


Blood of the Azure Moon

by Blaze163



Series: Blue Lions Saga [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, Choking, Dimitri just being a kind of terrible person for a bit, I'm Sorry, Interrogation, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, References to Torture, Violence, War, War Crimes, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21518299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaze163/pseuds/Blaze163
Summary: Fodlan is entrenched in war. The only leader to openly defy the Empire isn't stable. Everything appears hopeless, but there's no time left to waste. With uncertain hearts, the class of the Blue Lions confront the Empire to restore Fodlan to a world of peace.Contains violence you'd expect from a war fic, and probably some that you wouldn't. Features PoV from several characters. Part 2 of the Blue Lions Saga.Chapter 11: Ingrid battles Gwendal at Ailell, and comes away with some important takeaways.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Blue Lions Saga [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530956
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	1. A New Story Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Part 2 of the Blue Lions Saga! This fic is similar to the last one with a rotating character perspective driving the latter half of Azure Moon forward. This will be a very content-heavy fic, and much longer than my previous one, so buckle in and get ready for a long haul. Hope I make it worth it! Unlike last time, I intend to make it a goal to respond to any comments, and I'm super willing to take any feedback. Enjoy!

Annette paced back and forth across her dull, empty room. These days, that was all she could really do. Her textbooks had been confiscated after she had used a spell she deciphered from one to blow her window apart and escape the castle. Her pen and parchments were confiscated after she had been caught throwing letters begging for aid out of her window. Even her sweets had been confiscated after Cornelia had passed by Baron Dominic’s territory and suggested that it would be a shame if the infamous rebellious noblewoman of House Dominic was found poisoned by some eager noble. All that was left was a bed, some blankets, and a few wooden dolls, long ago shattered so Annette could sometimes throw them out to a wandering passerby, of which there were none at this point at night.

It wasn’t that she meant to be troubling to her uncle, not really. She knew that he was only serving under Lady Cornelia out of complete necessity, but it was still a movement that she couldn’t abide. She knew that out in the far reaches of Faerghus, her friends were out there fighting the Dukedom Cornelia had set up, and she had to do her part to help them…right? And so she had made to leave Fhirdiad to assist her friends. The first time, she hadn’t even escaped her uncle’s providence before being dragged back to the castle. The latest, she had nearly escaped Faerghus to secure her freedom where her uncle no longer had jurisdiction before she was forced to face down his private soldiers.

There, something had snapped in her.

She didn’t particularly remember until her uncle had quite angrily recounted the story to her, but she tossed out spells like party favors, blasting her uncle’s private army apart without care. She tore them apart indiscriminately, all until she felt a blow to the back of her head, and then everything went dark until she again woke in the familiar bedroom that had become a prison.

And so, the pacing continued. Haphazardly, she took one of the few remaining doll pieces laying by her bed, and threw it out the window angrily. It didn’t matter, really, at this rate she was doomed to stay with her uncle until Cornelia either was overthrown or conquered all of Faerghus. All she could do was-

“Ow!”

Annette jumped at the mildly annoyed, yet soft and high pitched voice that came outside the window. Her heart fluttered uncertainly, and she wasn’t sure she dared hope for what seemed like the absolute best possibility. Slowly, she crept towards the window and saw, smiling brightly through a slight film of tears and red forehead, her dearest friend from the Academy.

“Mercie!” She almost squealed the name but remembered herself at the last second, instead whispering the name excitedly. “I can’t believe it! How-?”

The healer shrugged her shoulders happily. “The Thousand Year Anniversary is coming up, Annie, and I heard about you getting cooped up here. I thought we might come and sneak you out so you can make our dear class reunion.” Annette’s heart filled.

“Oh, Mercie, you didn’t have to-“ Then her words fully registered with her. “We?”

“H-hi, Annette.” From behind Mercedes, a familiar head filled with blue hair popped out and smiled. “Mercedes thought I could be of help, so here I am.”  
  
“Marianne!” Annette almost squealed again, but instead opted to step back and look at her two dear friends. The years had certainly been kind to them both, that was for certain. Mercedes’ hair was cut short, which saddened Annette somewhat, but her new hairstyle framed her face beautifully, and had a playful curve to it that was quite attractive in its own right. Her clothes were now that of a Bishop, a soft golden that made her face almost glow. Marianne, on the other hand, wore a solemn, yet stunning blue robe that matched her hair beautifully. Her hair itself had been freed of its tight bun she wore at the monastery, and instead hung in a loose braid down her shoulder. They were both incredibly stunning, and it made Annette feel slightly self-conscious.

Completely oblivious to this internal conflict, Mercedes motioned to Marianne. “Okay, Marianne, do your thing!” Instinctively, Annette walked back, which appeared to be a good idea as Marianne’s hair floated back, her eyes glowing blue as frost coated her hand. The frost coated the bars over Annette’s window, which cracked, bent, until finally

*SNAP*

The bars gave way and Annette could finally leave her room once more.

“Marianne, that was incredible!” Annette didn’t hesitate to begin crawling out her window, her thoughts only racing forward to seeing her friends at the monastery, talking about times long past, making plans to save Faerghus, maybe even saving all of Fodlan-

“Annette!”

Her heart sank like a rock as she heard the voice behind her. She whirled around immediately to see her uncle, half dressed and in a panic, but also armed. And not just armed with anything; there was no mistaking the pulsing, glowing hammer in his hands.

Crusher.

And all of a sudden, she knew what she had to do. She felt Mercedes’ hands pull at her own robe, but she ignored her as her uncle ran forward in a fury, instead planting her feet as her mind wandered to a much more pleasant scene, five years ago.

_“Plant your feet,” Felix demanded, setting Annette’s feet into a steady position, “and brace your arms like this.” He moved her arms into a blocking stance. “You’ll have no weapon in combat as a mage, so you’ll have to make do disarming instead of just deflecting. That will make your job harder.” Saying this, Felix picked up a spear from a rack, holding it out to display. “You already know how to dodge a strike well enough, but you have to keep your mind aware as you do so. As the spear passes, place one hand near the blade, like so.” He gripped the near end of the shaft easily, “and the other closer to the wielder,” he gripped further along the shaft, “and twist with all your might. You’re using your enemy’s own momentum against them, so you don’t have to be particularly strong to be effective. Even if you don’t fully disarm him, you’ll throw him off enough that you can finish him off. Now, practice.”_

“…Annette, how…?” Mercedes’ voice, tinged with confusion, took Annette out of her focus. She blinked, and stared down now at her uncle, disarmed and clutching his own wrenched shoulder with disbelief. With some shock, she stared down at her own hands to find Crusher pulsing on top of her hands. Gross, but very helpful given they were probably about to launch themselves into a war.

“Wait, Annette!” Her uncle called out, but this time Annette didn’t take the time to listen to his pleas. She stepped out of the window, following Mercedes and Marianne down the darkened street.

“Annette!” The voice called out, but the sorrow seemed somewhat absent now, replaced with…was that pride? “Do House Dominic proud!” The sentiment, only able to be called out in the still of night where no Dukedom supporter could hear, settled in Annette’s heart. She turned, hoping her uncle could see her from her own room, and nodded heartily.

“I will, uncle.”

*

The trip out of Fhirdiad was completely uneventful, as was most of the journey through Faerghus. Given the time of the trio’s departure, Baron Dominic would have no reason to report to Cornelia immediately. He could afford to wait until morning, where it would likely be too late to do much of anything about it. In fact, given the injury Annette gave him and the papers Mercie “accidentally” left at the castle, he had ample evidence that he had no part to play in assisting his niece out of Faerghus. Thinking about the papers now, Annette smirked.

“Mercy Sweet, huh?” Mercedes blushed. “I knew it was you, ya know. Those two things can only have so many people in common.”

“I needed a pen name, but I also wanted everyone in the class to know that I was doing my own part to help Faerghus. And besides, it worked, didn’t it? Nobody from the Dukedom came to investigate.”

Annette and Marianne laughed, both in part due to the ridiculousness of the levity in which they were discussing Mercedes risking her life to publish her revolutionary medical findings that had all but turned Fhirdiad upside down. Annette shook her head, absolutely mesmerized.

“I can’t believe how brave you were to do that, Mercie. If you had been found out, they could have really hurt you.” Mercedes looked away, seeming slightly embarrassed. “Meanwhile, all I managed to do was get caught by my uncle time and again. I bet that didn’t impress anybody.”  
  
“Are you kidding?” Mercedes asked incredulously. “Every time someone visited the monastery I worked at, they would sing your unending praises for being so persistent in fighting back. I daresay Felix was in awe of you.” Now it was Annette’s turn to blush.

“Felix really…praised me?”

“Oh, absolutely, he-“ Mercedes paused, a knowing glint coming into her eyes, and she turned to Annette. “Annie…?”

Thankfully, the conversation was quickly cut short by Marianne shuffling up behind them, clearing her throat.

“Sorry, Annie, Mercie. I just wanted to let you know we’re getting close to Charon territory. After that, it’s a straight shot to Garreg Mach.”

Annette shivered. Charon territory was where she had made it last time she escaped. Beyond that, she had never had a prayer of getting close to her friends again. If they could only make it a little longer…

Of course, things were not destined to be that simple. It had only been about half through the territory before Annette heard the thunder of hooves behind her.

“Dukedom soldiers.” She whispered. It was inevitable that they would come, after all. If it had just been her escaping, it would be fine, but she had made the decision to take her House Relic with her. The Dukedom would not allow that slight, but she wasn’t willing to give it up. If the Relic could make a difference in any way, she would fight with all she had to keep it.

“Come on,” Mercedes motioned them over down the road, to where Annette could see a river crossing. “The cavalry will have a rougher time crossing a stream, we can head them off there.” Annette swallowed and followed her friend, desperately running to the stream before the Dukedom soldiers caught them. The trio ran heedlessly, not even daring to look back. Annette could only see Mercedes bobbing form jumping up and down in front of her, which of course led to her running headlong into her best friend when she full halted just before the stream. Her momentum carried them both over as the careened into the water, which Annette emerged from spitting and coughing.

“Mercie, what-“ She paused as screams emanated behind her, followed by the sickening sound that her time at war could discern as blades tearing through flesh. She decided to keep from turning around for the time being. As the noise grew silent, she turned to see a hooded, robed figure standing amidst the carnage, looking wholly nondescript…save the familiar, edged blade that glowed bright with the crest of Charon.

“Catherine?!” Annette shouted before she could reign herself in. The figure flinched, then turned as she removed her hood, revealing the swordswoman’s perky face.

“Hey, there, Annette. Holding up all right?” Annette didn’t hesitate to leap up, embracing the woman enthusiastically.  
  


“So much better now that you’re here! How did you know?”

The woman laughed nervously, pushing Annette away. “I…didn’t. Not really. I’m actually here to investigate something entirely different. Rumor has it there’s been a disturbance…up at Garreg Mach, of all places.”

Annette felt her heart drop to the floor. “G-Garreg…Mach? But who-“

“There have been conflicting reports,” the swordswoman interrupted harshly. “More than a few I can’t bring myself to believe…not quite yet, at least. Only one things been confirmed, and that’s-“ Catherine immediately stopped, almost seeming to literally be biting her tongue.

“That’s…?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Catherine grumbled to herself. “I could have left well enough along and it would have been perfectly fine. But I open my big mouth, and-“

  
  
“Catherine.” Annette used her stern voice, and the swordswoman managed to look up now. “Who?”

She grimaced. “…Gilbert. He’s definitely there.”

No sooner were the words said than Annette had turned on her heels and begun sprinting for the monastery. She couldn’t see, but she felt Mercedes and Marianne stumble to catch up with her, not even questioning her now. Her heart burned as she set out, but she couldn’t tell necessarily what from. It was…a complicated mixture of emotions, to be sure. But the only thing she could focus on was one thought.

She was not letting her father get away. Not this time, not ever again.


	2. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid rush to the monastery to meet their classmates. Unfortunately, the sight before them is less than ideal.

The roads around Garreg Mach were disgustingly run down, Sylvain decided. In five years, they had been the site of slaughter from Imperial troops, mourning from families for soldiers left behind, and slaughter again as bandits preyed on travelers trying to find safe passage from country to country amidst the times of war. The road was so bloodstained and nauseous that walking along it made him feel the urge to vomit gratuitously. Even now, he could see smeared entrails and fresh stains of blood that were-

Wait. Fresh?

Sylvain held his hand out, halting Felix and Ingrid in their tracks. “Hold on.”

There was no need for words. Silently, the trio unsheathed their weapons, and the air glowed softly with the glow of Sylvain and Ingrid’s lances, as well as Felix’s shield. Sylvain planted his steps carefully forward, his eyes scanning for further carnage.

Of course, that wouldn’t be difficult to find in the slightest. All around the trail he could see rotting, dismembered flesh melting into the ground. As the shadows dispelled along the path he could clearly see slumped forms giving evidence to a recent slaughter fest. The skin on his arms began to prickle and his hair rose as he considered what could have led to this. A Demonic Beast wouldn’t leave so much behind, nor would an entire army. There was, of course, another answer, both logical and horrifyingly clear in its possibility, but Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to consider it quite yet.

“Eaaaugh!” Ingrid let out a piercing yell, and Sylvain whirled around to see a hand grasping her ankle. The grip was weak, so Ingrid easily evaded the clawing appendage, but Sylvain edged closer, curious to see what could have survived the massacre.

He wished he hadn’t.

It was a miracle- or perhaps the most evil curse- that the poor soldier was alive, plainly put. Half his face had been torn away by a sharp blade, and his skull was split wide open. The creature didn’t even have enough of a mouth to form words, only able to moan furiously as his eye stared straight through Sylvain’s soul. Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to move, only staring back into the man’s soul and finding nothing but intense agony, a begging for relief. Which he promptly received as Felix rammed his sword through the man’s heart, allowing him to fall back with an almost grateful sigh.

“Disgusting,” Felix hissed. “I can’t believe he didn’t even take care to make sure these soldiers died properly.”  
  
“He?” Sylvain posed the question innocently, trying beyond hope to push the idea of who exactly had done this very far away. Felix wouldn’t have any of it, only glaring at his friend with distaste.

“You know who did this. I thought we agreed not to play blind to this anymore.” Sylvain and Ingrid nodded solemnly, choosing not to discuss the topic further as they ventured ever closer to the monastery. Which left the open question quite unanswered:

What were they going to do about it?

Sylvain had admittedly whittled away the five years half hoping the news of Dimitri’s execution had been correct. He had never noticed how in pain the prince was until he snapped at the Holy Tomb, and at times he had wondered if a quick execution would be a better release than him continuing to live out whatever sick fantasy world he lived in. He knew Ingrid and Felix didn’t think the same; Ingrid still had her upmost admiration for His Highness in spite of her refusal to admit it, and Felix…well, Sylvain could see through him easily enough to know he wasn’t any less dedicated to Dimitri than he was back when they were kids. He just chose to approach it in a different way now, that was all.

His thoughts were interrupted as the group heard shouting up ahead. Sylvain felt his footsteps quicken as a very feminine scream filled the air. Whoever voiced it had a strong set of lungs, that was for sure, as her voice filled the air with an almost overpowering authority. The thought suddenly registered through Sylvain’s head, and he was barely able to slow down before watching Dorothea carve her way through a bandit’s torso, adding another corpse to the trail. The songstress paused a moment to catch her breath, then seemed to tense as she realized she still wasn’t alone. She whirled around, pointing her sword at the trio.

Time seemed to pause as everyone’s brains caught up with the situation they were in.

“Ingrid!” Of course, Dorothea bounded towards the blonde first and foremost, uncomfortable as it seemed to make her. The two managed to embrace only slightly awkwardly before Ingrid pushed her away, worry filling her face.

“Dorothea, you didn’t happen to cause any of this carnage, did you?” The songstress rolled her eyes.

“Please, Ingrid. I couldn’t muster up half of this amount of bloodshed even if I tried. In fact, I was wondering if maybe any of you had an idea who came up with this.”

The trio only looked at each other awkwardly before staring at the ground.

“It’s possible…”

“Maybe…”

“The boar.”

Sylvain and Ingrid glared at Felix, but he ignored it. For her part, Dorothea only nodded curtly. “I figured as much was plausible. Well, let’s go see if anyone more pleasant might have come along with him.”

And so the group of four traveled on, though this time Sylvain couldn’t pull his eyes away from the songstress. She was beautiful before they had departed the monastery, but now? The woman’s hair, dress, movements, everything all mirrored that of a dramatic, mournful lady of the stage. Even her grisly disembowelment of the bandit had its own graceful elegance that seemed to frame her with a beauty beyond compare.

It really wasn’t fair now that he was sworn off flirting with women.

Apparently Ingrid felt the same, as she nudged him sharply and leaned in to his ear.

“I’ll forgive looks just this once, because honestly even I’m struggling right now. Things will pick back up when we get to the monastery, though, okay?” Sylvain nodded in both agreement and thankfulness to Ingrid’s allowance. Becoming more serious for everyone was definitely a task, but he had somehow managed to last for the two years since he and Ingrid had started not-so-officially courting. He would have made it official, but it was hard for anyone to take a courtship seriously when everyone in Faerghus was fighting for their rights and struggling to continue the war against the Dukedom. The two had instead agreed on keeping things very under wraps until the war was over.

All of a sudden, Sylvain was very desperate to race to the monastery so his classmates could regroup and storm Enbarr within the month.

Thankfully, the group didn’t have long to wait. The monastery’s towering form seemed only a short while away, with the only thing standing between them and their old school being…a battle? Sylvain wasn’t certain at first, but as the group made their way over a new hill it became very clear that violence was breaking out at the base of the mountain the monastery was stationed at. Sylvain couldn’t even see the combatants clearly, only able to see people frantically waving swords, spears, bows, whips…

Whips?

No, it was unmistakable. A crackle of red energy dispelled the air, and Sylvain watched as a flurry of orange light followed it, waving its way across the makeshift battlefield. There was no way. It was too good to be true. They had all been searching for five years, and yet, could it be…?  
  
“Go.”

Dorothea’s voice was urgent, almost angry, and Sylvain couldn’t blame her. While the battlefield was in disarray, it was clear whatever side the professor was on was easily outmatched. Sylvain could hardly start his legs up fast enough, driving forward in a blind madness to reach the site. As he ran, a flurry of emotions bubbled up inside. Joy, fear, regret, anxiety, all rising up so quickly it hurt his chest. If that was really the person they were hoping for, the one they’d all been searching for these past five years, then maybe, just maybe-

“Wait!”

The call came up from the battlefield, and the group slowed to a halt as they saw a rather pathetic looking figure run up from the base of the mountain towards them.

“Please, I beg of you, help me!” The man’s clothes were torn and bloody, his face set with panic. Though, for all that, Sylvain couldn’t help but notice a slight bulge in his clothes or the sack hanging from his back that clanged gently. The man stopped before them, bowing deeply.

“Please, brave warriors- you are mercenaries, are you? Ah, nevermind. I beg of you, help me! My name is Pollardo. Me and my colleagues have been minding our business in trade- fair trade, I assure you, quite fair- when all of a sudden these demons have seen fit to disturb us and try to destroy us for no reason! Please, help us run them out, and I will see you paid greatly.”

Sylvain made to brush him aside, but Felix held his hand up.

“Just a moment, sir.” Sylvain balked. He had never heard Felix try to sound polite before. “Before we help you out, could you grace us with a description of who you want us to take down? You can’t very well expect us to run into a battlefield with no idea of who our foes are.”

“Oh certainly!” The pathetic man bobbed his head appreciatively. “The primary leaders I saw were boorish individuals, quite horrible indeed. The first was this crazed, beastlike man who wore a mane of shaggy yellow hair and an eyepatch over one eye. He’s deranged, I tell you, deranged indeed, and horribly powerful. Best take caution with that one.” The trio looked at each other uncomfortably. Sylvain had a sneaking suspicion he knew who that was.

“The other wields this horrible, bone-like sword that’s cost me half my men. His hair is strange, indeed, almost glowing this bright green color. You wouldn’t have any trouble picking him out, that’s for sure.”

Felix nodded curtly, then launched himself forward cleanly. The man gasped in surprise as the swordsman ran his blade through his stomach, but could only look up in confusion and surprise. The nobleman only returned his gaze smugly.

“Thank you for your help, Pollardo. But our friends are waiting for us now, if you don’t mind.”

And with that, he turned on his heels and ran down to the battlefield, which seemed to be growing quiet as the professor finished up his work with the bandits below. Sylvain followed close behind, marveling at how tricky Felix had become as time passed. That interaction was downright smooth, when he would have just defaulted to pinning the man to the ground and interrogating him with the threat of death five years ago.

Ah, how they grew up.

“Felix? Sylvain!” Sylvain jolted as the familiar voice pulled him from his doldrums, and he stared up to see a wyvern soaring overhead. Ashe? The wyvern looped in the air, and the young boy- well, perhaps man would be a better term, now that he looked clearly- stepped off to greet them. It was, of course, Ashe, smiling widely as he greeted his old friends. His hair was swept down over one eye as opposed to the somewhat formless curls he had at the monastery, and Sylvain dared to believe he had filled out a bit more around his arms and shoulders.

“Come on, the battle’s dying down, I’m sure everyone else is waiting.” The next phrase shook Sylvain out of his analysis, and he looked up to the young rider.

“Everyone else? You mean you were a part of that massacre?”

“Massacre?” Ashe’s eyebrows knit together in a mix of confusion and worry. “I mean, we routed the bandits, but I wouldn’t necessarily call it a-“ Sylvain waved his hand, trying to dispel Ashe’s worry.

“My mistake, never mind. I’m talking about something different; must have been something else.”

The group rounded the corner, and Sylvain had to have his breath taken away again at the small gathering around him. Annette, Mercedes, Marianne, Caspar, and Gilbert were all gathered around, talking excitedly. Aside from Gilbert, Sylvain thought he’d hardly have recognized anyone if he hadn’t prepared himself for the change. Annette, Mercedes, and Marianne were all drop dead gorgeous, and even Caspar had undergone an impressive growth, now almost equal to Sylvain and sporting a much more flattering hairstyle that swept down over his forehead. But that wasn’t the greatest surprise compared to the two taking the center of the scene.

As he had suspected, the professor was indeed there, right in the middle of it all, laughing and chatting animatedly with the old members of his class. With a pang, Sylvain realized the professor seemed to have hardly aged; as a matter of fact, he looked no different than he did five years ago after his disappearance. What exactly had happened there?

But of course, that wasn’t the worst surprise. That was saved for the gruesome figure towering over the professor, observing all the people around him with pointed disinterest. His mangy, rotting clothes reeked with blood, and his one good eye was weary, crusty, and devoid of any emotion. The Gautier noble reeled back with disbelief and, honestly, disgust. Because there was no way that he could believe that that decayed, crazed, and emaciated form belonged to the friend he knew so long. For a brief moment, he even wondered if maybe taking up that Pollardo’s offer to put the boar down wouldn’t have been the worst idea. But now they were stuck here, and Gods be damned if they weren’t in it for the long haul. Finally finding the courage to collect his voice, he couldn’t help but quaver as he spoke, half to understand, and half to just ground himself, to make sure the person in front of him wasn’t some crazed hallucination. Yet still the beast turned, souring Sylvain’s stomach and cementing his emotions into deep fear.

“…Dimitri? Is this…really you?”


	3. Old times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette clings to the past for a little while longer in the wake of the beginning of a new war front.

“We’re not fighting under the boar’s flag, and that’s final.”

The Blue Lions were currently sitting around a table situated up in the second floor of the monastery. Alongside them were several members of the Knights of Seiros: Catherine, Shamir, Seteth, Manuela, Hanneman, Flayn, and Gilbert. All of whom were now arguing ceaselessly about the problem the prince’s existence was now holding over them. Annette groaned, shoving her head into her hands. Of all the ways for the class reunion to have gone down, she hadn’t really wanted arguing about how loyal they were going to be to a crazed boar prince to be one of the top orders of business. Granted, she also hadn’t particularly wanted her father continuing to brush her off like chaff to be a continued norm, so maybe she was just in for a miserable day.

The last statement, obviously from Felix, was set in a dominant and flat tone, which should have ended the discussion but instead seemed to only invite more contrary opinions from the table. Gilbert led a chorus of voices arguing that the prince’s banner would raise morale, give a face to the cause, help the Kingdom and whatnot, while Shamir led a group voicing agreement with Felix that fighting under a deranged prince would instead bring adverse effects to the cause. Annette watched as Dimitri stepped back from it all, seemingly completely uninterested, and made his way out of the room. Annette had half a mind to follow him, especially with him looking so…alone. Her heart panged as she remembered the prince’s face as he spat out the single word when she had dared ask where his faithful bodyguard Dedue was after all this time. It had wrenched in a flurry of emotions that couldn’t be described beyond the word “pained” in response, affirming what the entire group had feared upon seeing the giant absent from Dimitri’s side.

“Dead.”

Annette was jolted out of the memory as the voices around the table escalated, and she desperately whipped her head around trying to make sense of things. Felix was jabbing a finger at Mercedes, a sneer plastered across his face as the argued about the viability of “fixing up the monastery”. The cleric was holding her own however, staring the swordsman down with sheer determination and authority. Seteth and Ingrid were coming to blows about the food stores and possible remedies, Ashe and Caspar were arguing with Shamir about rumors concerning civilians of the Empire, and Dorothea was getting into a heated discussion with Gilbert about what causes the army was going to champion to win over the rest of Fodlan. Annette sighed and pushed her chair back. Felix turned to look her in the eyes, and her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat. For half a second, she was tempted to stay just to appease the concerned…and also knowing look in his eyes. A look that betrayed the months that Annette had spent in Frauldarius, hiding from her uncle, learning swordsmanship with Felix, helping him with day to day handlings of nobility, wishing she could help him even more... she snapped back regretfully. She didn’t mean to daydream about Felix yet again. The swordsman just had that way of influencing her. However, she shook her head and kept moving forward. Her weird relationship with the kingdom noble could wait until after everyone had calmed down.

“Bah!” Annette jumped back as she nearly ran headlong into a young man tumbling into the doorframe. A bustle of papers and adjustment of glasses later, and the man looked up to see Annette standing stock still in front of him, her mouth agape with shock.

“…Ignatz?!”

The entire room froze as every conversation stopped to see the bumbling archer enter the room. Seeming suddenly painfully aware, the archer blushed and raised a hand.

“Ah, hello, everyone.” His greeting was met with shocked silence. “I, uh… heard there was going to be a gathering here. Thought I’d come by and see if there was any truth to that. From what I’ve heard, it seems like you all are busy?” Annette shook herself out of it and took Ignatz’ hand warmly, doing her best to force a smile.

“Absolutely not, Ignatz. We’re just trying to parse out some details about the war.”

  
Ignatz’s eyes grew wide as he scanned the room. “War?” He asked, incredulous. “I heard there were some minor pauses within the Empire and all, but you all are really planning counterattacks and the like?” His eyes widened as various forms of assent were granted across the room. “Well, then, absolutely! Count me in!”

As cheers grew through the war room and the tone grew lighter on the whole, Annette decided to make herself discreet and move out. She made her way from the war room, down to the first floor of the monastery and out to a row of bushes across the courtyard from the classroom. There, she simply sat, and thought. This had been her old thinking spot back in the monastery days, where she just daydreamed, wrote songs, even talked to Claude every now and again.

Life used to be a lot simpler. 

Almost as if cued from her thoughts, she felt a familiar presence sidle next to her behind the bushes, puffing out a breath of frustration as he slid down the monastery walls. Smiling, Annette turned to see the slightly flustered face of her old friend and confidant, Ashe.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” The young man sighed tiredly. “We get here to band together and unite against the Empire and the first thing we do is squabble over tiny details. Makes me wonder if being a noble is really worth as much as everyone acts like it is.” Annette giggled.

“Well, did you think we all just sat back in our castles and counted taxes all day long? We have things to do besides just be noble, after all.” Now it was Ashe’s turn to chuckle, and soon the two were laughing at each other as though each had told the most rousing joke in all of Fodlan. It had always been like that, really. Ashe had always been able to make Annette laugh so easily, drawing mirth from within her. It was why he was always such a good friend. The two had even briefly considered dating…until Annette had realized that Ashe was definitely not her taste and Ashe had realized that his tastes weren’t directed towards women in general. The thought sparked something in Annette, and she turned to the boy now.

“Hey, Ashe.” Her friend’s laughter stopped at the serious tone in Annette’s voice, and he directed his full attention to her now with complete concern.

“What is it, Annette?”

“Are you…seeing someone?”

The furious blush that reached Ashe’s face was easily telltale enough for Annette’s purposes. She laughed as Ashe struggled to stammer out an answer. 

“I-I-I-I…how did you- I mean, you couldn’t possibly-“

Annette rested a hand on his, smiling brightly. “It’s your demeanor, Ashe. You seem so much more calm and happy now than you did back at Garreg Mach, especially after…all the things you went through.”

  
Ashe ducked his head, blushing slightly yet grinning all the same. But Annette wasn’t letting him get away with just that. “Soooooo?”

He shifted and looked away. “Caspar.”

The world felt like it dropped out from beneath Annette, and all of a sudden, she felt like a massive idiot. Of course, it was Ashe and Caspar. The two had been absolutely inseparable once Caspar had joined the Lions, and they had been together for nearly the entire duration of the five years. Who else was she supposed to think it was with? More to steady her own thoughts than anything else, she held up a hand.

“Woah, woah, woah, hold up. You mean to tell me that you and Caspar were a thing the whole time?”

“Not the whole time,” Ashe winced. “He wasn’t exactly my first crush.” Annette shook her head.

“What we had wasn’t a crush, Ashe. We both realized too quick that-“

“That’s not what I meant,” Ashe interrupted. “I mean the first person that made me realize I liked guys. It was Felix, not Caspar. He just…turned me down. Rather harshly, honestly.” Annette fell quiet at that. 

Oh. Well, she wasn’t going to knock Ashe for his taste. He seemed to pick up on that exact thought, as he turned to her now with a certain look in his eye.

“By the way, you seemed to have eyes for a certain someone for most of the board meeting. Don’t get me wrong, you may have just been daydreaming, but it was always in a certain someone’s direction. I don’t suppose you happened to spend much time in Frauldarius territory during our time apart?”

Now it was Annette’s turn to blush furiously.

“I may have…spent a few months there. Studying weapons, of course, nothing else.” All of a sudden, her recent romantic interest in the Kingdom noble seemed rather insensitive after Ashe’s reveal of his harsh rejection. However, her classmate remained unconvinced.

“Mhm. And I’m sure you count Felix’s eyes as a weapon, then, considering how intently you were studying them in the council.”

Touche.

Admitting defeat, Annette groaned and threw her head back, nearly slamming her head back into the wall. “Fine, fine, I am incredibly attracted to Felix. Are you happy now?” Ashe crowed, throwing his back as well.

“Yes! I knew you and I had the same taste! Ha!” Annette grumbled and just glared back at him.

“Ha, ha. Yeah, I’m sure you’re thrilled now that you’re the one going steady. I’m guessing Caspar’s haircut was your idea, then?”

Ashe grinned easily, so lovingly Annette felt a pang. “Yeah, his old school haircut wasn’t cutting it for me. He wanted a military cut, I wanted something sweeping and modern. This ended up being the best of both worlds.”

“You got that right” Annette nearly said, until remembering what they were talking about and shutting her mouth before a word escaped. Goddess, she and Ashe really did have the exact same tastes.

“So, what about Lin?” Ashe’s expression darkened.

“Cas…is still struggling with that. That’s what he and Shamir are still arguing about, actually. Shamir is adamant that Cyril saw him gathering at Fort Merceus to help maintain the stronghold there. Caspar is absolutely sure that he would never do such a thing, and we can’t make sure with Cyril because he went missing in his last expedition out to the Empire. Going theory is that he got devoured by monsters.”

Annette winced, though she couldn’t quite sympathize with how distraught Ashe sounded. She had talked to the boy a few times in the school days, but they’d never really quite connected. Ashe was quite a bit closer in that regard. As for Linhardt…well, they had interacted. It hadn’t been particularly productive. She wasn’t quite sure why he and Caspar of all people made friends. 

“So, what are you going to do? If Shamir’s right-which she almost definitely is- we’re probably gonna have to fight Lin at some point. Can you and Caspar do that?” Ashe turned to her, bleary eyed.

“You may have to fight your uncle if we make our way to Faerghus. Can you do that?” Annette groaned and leaned forward again. Ashe was getting better at these verbal sparring matches they had.

“I dunno. I’m kind of tired of having to plan 20 steps in advance anyways, you know? I almost want to turn my brain off and just take each step as it comes.”

Ashe laughed mirthlessly. “You sound like Caspar, saying that. Somehow I don’t think it suits you.”

Annette glared, but deep down she knew he was right. Turning her brain off wasn’t like her anyways. Like it or not, she was going to have to think long and hard about the whole “killing old classmates and family members” thing. 

“So? What do we do? Run, go fight somewhere else, what?” Ashe shrugged. 

“I don’t intend to go anywhere. Caspar and I both agreed that overthrowing the Empire is more important than avoiding old friends. There are a lot of oppressed people here in Fodlan, and we need to fix that as soon as possible. It will lead to some unpleasant stuff, but still…it’s what we have to do.”

Annette sighed one last time as the arguments subsided above their heads, the final preparations for war drawing to a close. Goddess damn him, Ashe was right. This war was going to be horrible and messy and bloody, and would probably be described as one of the darkest times in all of Fodlan’s history, but it had to go on.

The people of Fodlan deserved that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know it just kind of looks like Ignatz is suddenly just there, but trust me, it will absolutely get touched on next chapter. This is just there to lead in as well as complete the main cast for this series. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Interrogation of the Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Ingrid are forced to do something absolutely absurd in order to appease Dimitri: question possibly the most innocent and unassuming soldier in the army for information.

Normally, Sylvain could fake a good mood. Normally, he could cover up his emotions in a fake smile and a few forced flirts, or jut brush everything off regardless. Normally, he wasn’t a scowling mess that glowered at every soldier he passed by or otherwise trudged along in silence next to his somewhat girlfriend/life partner/otherwise significant other. 

But alas, normally he wasn’t marching down to the dungeons to interrogate a completely innocent man on the whims of his absolutely deranged friend-turned-murder hobo.

Things had been going swell for approximately 30 minutes. Ignatz had showed up, helping diffuse the tension at the war council, even offering some keen observations and helpful opinions that really pushed the council into a center of agreement. In a surprising amount of time, the group had managed to settle most of the major agreements that the council had faced from the get-go, and were beginning to dissolve with a general sense of good cheer. Then His Royal Highness waltzed in and realized that an unknown stranger had managed to infiltrate the monastery without an ounce of difficulty.

From there, it had taken Ignatz being whisked to the Monastery dungeon for his own safety, while Ingrid and Sylvain had worked together to convince Dimitri to at least allow them to question Ignatz before he decided to separate the completely unthreatening and compliant archer’s head from his shoulders. Dimitri, of course, was screaming the whole time about rebellious spies and traitors and separating heads from shoulders until Marianne finally was able to whisk him away towards the Cathedral. Byleth, of course, was absolutely no help at this point, only looking on sadly with despair and clearly no idea how to fix his old favorite student.

“One might wonder if he’s a better fit in the dungeons than Ignatz would be,” Sylvain growled darkly.

Ingrid elbowed him, mirroring his own dark gaze. “Sylvain.”

Sylvain winced. Ingrid was far more sympathetic for Dimitri than he and Felix were, but he had an amount of understanding as to why. She was far more connected to the loss that had driven Dimitri to his madness, and Sylvain wouldn’t hesitate to admit that Felix’s coping mechanism was particularly healthy either. However, that didn’t necessarily mean he suddenly agreed with her on the matter. 

“You have to at least admit this is overboard. You really think it’s safe to follow the prince if he’s willing to go this far?”

“We both pledged ourselves to this war long ago,” his partner replied evenly. “Regardless of who we fight under, I’m not going to hesitate. Right?”

His response was left unsaid as they rounded their way down the stairs to the dungeon. A long row of cells lined the wall, but the quarry they had been set out to interrogate had been hastily shoved and secured in the nearest one possible. Upon seeing Ingrid and Sylvain appear, Ignatz held up his shackled wrists pathetically, a look of mild disbelief and confusion splayed across his face.

“Is this all really necessary?”

Sylvain sighed as he unlocked the cell door and sat across from Ignatz, sighing deeply as Ingrid sat alongside him.

“To any normal person, not even in the slightest. To His Royal Madness, this is probably about as merciful as you’re going to get.” That earned him an elbow jab from Ingrid, which he ignored. “You sure you still want to enlist and all? You’ve got a world of better things to do than fight a war for a king who’s barely got his sanity intact, you know. Ingrid and I wouldn’t have any difficulty smuggling you out, either.”

Ignatz shook his head solemnly. 

“Sorry, but no. I made my decision, just like you all did. His Highness’s trust in me doesn’t have to be a factor. Whatever it takes to get out there and help, I’ll do it.”

Sylvain’s stomach soured. That was the unpleasant earnestness he had expected and hoped against. “All right, but be warned, we’re gonna have to grill you a bit for Dimitri’s sake.” Ignatz’s only response was to nod grimly, leading Sylvain to whip out a pen and some parchment, spreading it across the bench.

“Recount for us what you’ve been up to the past five years. Specific, if you can.”

“All right…” Ignatz’s eyes rolled back, calling back through recent history. “I took off in the merchant business some time after the war started. I made work of traveling through the Alliance selling art an other wares, but didn’t see too much of any of the Golden Deer.”

“Any meetings with anyone from the Empire?”

Ignatz shook his head. “Not that I know of. Not until…the Gloucester family pledged their allegiance.”

Sylvain knit his fingers. Now they were getting somewhere. “So you met up with the Gloucesters, then?” 

Ignatz shrugged. “Just Lorenz. I wanted to ask him myself…about his fathers’ practices that caused the deaths of Raphael’s parents. We didn’t really get much of anywhere, unfortunately. He told me he’d ‘look into it’ and I didn’t hear from him afterwards until the Empire grew so overbearing I was forced to leave. I didn’t think to try to pry for any plans or information, though I did hear that they’re currently working with House Aegir to protect the Great Bridge.”

Sylvain grimaced, writing that last note on the parchment. It was probably an obvious conclusion to reach regardless, but it would at least help clear Ignatz’s name to Dimitri if Sylvain could present it cleverly enough.

“After I met with Lorenz, I made my way to Kingdom Territory. I…well, I heard that there was unrest in the Kingdom, and speaking frankly it seemed like more action than Claude’s been taking with the Alliance.” Sylvain seized at the opportunity.

“And what’s Claude doing with the Alliance? I’ve heard nothing but neutrality at the moment.”

Ignatz shrugged. “That’s just the thing. At the current state, the Alliance can’t do anything more than be at a stalemate. I’m sure Claude is anti-Empire, but House Gloucester is too influential to allow him to make a strong move either way.” 

Sylvain laced his fingers together. “So what you’re saying is, if we remove the threat of House Gloucester, we might be able to grab Alliance support.”

The room grew deathly quiet, and Sylvain could feel Ingrid’s glare boring into him as Ignatz’s face grew pale.

“Sylvain, please, no. You don’t have to crush Gloucester territory just to get Alliance support, we both know that House Gloucester is being strong-armed by the Empire.”

“Yeah, well, so is half the Kingdom and we’re probably gonna have to wipe those turncoats out when we take the Kingdom back as well.” Sylvain responded brazenly. “You sure you thought of every possibility when you said you want to fight with us? We may have to make some dirty moves in order to get enough power to face the Empire.”

Ignatz stared down at the bench sullenly. “So, is that what you were after, then? Information that can get you an advantage here?” 

Sylvain rested his arms behind his head, trying to force a brazen response again. “Call it a stroke of fortune, good or bad is up to you. I just want to clear you at this point, Ignatz. Now, I just have one more question here.” Ignatz nodded miserably. “How did you hear about our little pow-wow at the monastery?”

Ignatz’s eyes popped open. “You mean you don’t know? Word’s spread out through the general area that the local thieves were absolutely annihilated. And most of the reports were able to describe your class fairly accurately. I just decided to make it here before the majority of the Imperial Army rammed their way here. Are you seriously not preparing for that now?”

Sylvain felt his heart drop. Ah, shit, Imperial troops. He hadn’t really thought about the possibility, and judging from Ingrid’s face she hadn’t thought about it too much either. Suffice to say, that was probably pretty bad, and they likely would need to bring this news to Dimitr- no, Gilbert or Byleth would easily be the better options at this point- with all due haste. Trying to maintain a professional demeanor, Sylvain stood up and made a semblance of bowing out. “All right, Ignatz, I think that’s enough to secure your freedom. I’ll pass this along to the professor while Ingrid gets you set up with your things.”

He didn’t look back as he exited the cell, sprinting up the stairwell and straight to where he knew Byleth’s quarters were, where he promptly rammed his hand against the professor’s door. The door opened far too slowly for Sylvain’s liking, and he had to hold himself from slamming the door open to get his former teacher’s attention. 

“…Sylvain? What on this ungodly hour are you-?” Sylvain cut him off immediately.

“Empire troops are almost definitely on their way here. We need to set up defensive measurements now, or we’re dead before this war even starts.” He handed the details to the professor, who skimmed over it with his eyes only growing slightly concerned as time went on.

“Understood,” he yawned sleepily. “I’ll make sure to start preparations tomorrow. Shamir already set spies and lookouts around the monastery, so we don’t have anything to fear tonight, at the very least.” The thought settled Sylvain’s nerves slightly, and he felt his shoulders relaxed. The professor’s eyes grew sharp again as he looked over the papers. 

“Gloucester territory, huh…? I don’t imagine Dimitri will be particularly engaged with the idea of taking it, but if they’re defending the Great Bridge, we’ll likely have to fight some members of their army anyways. We could perhaps send a party to take care of the territory as a whole and free up Claude’s movements, if need be.”

Sylvain flinched. Oh, right, he had totally sold out Gloucester on Ignatz’s behalf. Guilt panged him slightly, but the relieved smile on Byleth’s face helped the feeling. He trusted the professor far more than the boar, at least. The two walked on, starting discussion on the defenses of the monastery, when they saw Ignatz and Ingrid making their way up from the dungeons as well.

“Ah, Ignatz!” Byleth announced with surprise. “Thank you so much for the information you gave Sylvain. I’m sure this is going to help strategy a ton.”

The look on the young archer’s face brought guilt back to Ignatz’s face almost immediately. Yeah, he wasn’t living that down any time soon. The boy ignored the professor’s praise, instead sullenly turning and making his way to his own dorm room. Byleth turned to Ingrid, completely clueless.

“…Was it something I said?” Ingrid grimaced, placing her arm over the professor’s arm comfortingly.

“It’s nothing, professor. Ignatz is just working through his feelings about the whole Gloucester deal. Please, if it’s at all possible, be as kind as you can with them.”

The professor nodded happily, trotting his way to the Cathedral, where Dimitri apparently still was, still absorbed in Sylvain’s notes. Sylvain faked a yawn, turning and making for his own quarters before Ingrid’s icy cold voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Not so fast, Gautier. You and I have business to attend to.”

Oh, Goddess, no.


	5. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caspar's uncle is making his way to the monastery, intent on wiping out the entire Kingdom Resistance.
> 
> Dimitri does not like that Caspar's uncle is on his way to the monastery, intent on wiping out the entire Kingdom Resistance.

General Randolph was coming to take back Garreg Mach.

The news spread through the monastery like a wildfire, and yet somehow Caspar had managed to become the absolute last to know. He had happily rushed through breakfast while a nervous and clearly uncomfortable Ashe had struggled through trying to decide how to tell him, then made a mess of the training grounds as Felix and Ingrid had deftly avoided the topic whatsoever, and even had an in-depth tactics discussion with Sylvain and Annette that had never even strayed close to the imminent battle coming up. No, of course an old friend or actually helpful ally wasn’t going to be the person to break the news to him. Instead, he found himself slammed against the wall of the cathedral on one of the few times he went there to pray, merciless at the hands of the completely deranged prince of Faerghus while the other members of his old class could only stare on in shock and horror.

The prince’s eyes narrowed sharply as his hand tightened around Caspar’s throat, allowing only a slim path of air to travel through. Felix and Ashe leapt forward, but the boar prince growled and removed his other hand from Caspar’s chest whirling it about to slash an arc in front of the pair’s faces. Caspar tried to take the opportunity to kick out, but barely got the chance before Dimitri reared back, using only one hand to lift the war master off the ground by his neck and slam him into the monastery wall, throwing his vision into a swirly haze. Through it, he could only hear Ashe’s shout of concern, followed by another growl from Dimitri. “I will not kill him if he can prove his innocence,” Dimitri grumbled. “So back off before I’m forced to take more drastic measures. Understood?”

Judging by the lack of movement Caspar could finally begin to determine as the world cleared back up again, the sentiment was understood. He could still see Ashe’s face, tear-streaked and red with anger, staring the prince down as he turned back to Caspar. For some reason, the look made his heart swell a little before his vision was completely filled with the one-eyed demon’s hate-filled face. “Tell, me, Bergliez.” He growled impatiently, “what do you know of your uncle’s schemes against the monastery? Are you an Imperial spy? Are you working for her? Is that why you came to our house in the first place?” The hand loosened slightly to allow Caspar passage enough to voice his rebuttal.

“Not…connected…” Caspar gasped, his vision growing slightly hazy. “Cut ties…once I joined.” The hand dropped away now, though his other was still planted firmly against Caspar’s chest, holding him in place.

“Explain.”  
  
Caspar could only cough, gratefully gasping as air finally filled his lungs fully once again. Dimitri made an impatient noise in the back of his throat again, but Felix was able to assert himself this time. “He’s catching his breath, boar, be patient,” the swordsman growled. “If you want him to answer quickly, don’t choke him before he has a chance to respond.” Dimitri simply grunted in annoyance, but Caspar was gratefully able to recover enough air to speak up.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” Caspar said, swallowing his pride. “You’re right, I am related by blood to Randolph. But I was disowned by my father and his entire branch of the family since I joined the Lions. You remember that…right?” Faint recognition dawned in Dimitri’s eyes, and for just a brief moment, Caspar thought he saw something else: a softening around the eyes, almost a small pang of kinship that the boy hadn’t seen since their days at the monastery. Then the boar was back, sneering as he tossed Caspar back into the wall with disdain.

“So? Perhaps you can give an account of what you’ve been doing these past five years? You’re also fairly close to a high-up commander in Edelgard’s army, are you not? Any mongrel of hers is able to spread their germs with impunity, as far as I’m concerned. And those that spread must be destroyed.” The dismissiveness in his voice made Caspar’s heart pang for more reasons than one, and for the briefest of moments he almost felt compelled to defend Linhardt, even knowing that doing so would almost absolutely spell out his blood being spilt in incredibly gruesome ways onto the Cathedral’s floor. He looked up to the prince, forming words with his mouth, but now suddenly no words seemed to be able to come out, instead dying in his throat. Dimitri’s face began to twist even darker, his lance tightening in hi grip as he brought it close to Caspar-

“He was with me.” All of a sudden, there was space between Caspar and Dimitri, filled by a long blue coat, sweeping silver hair, and arms outstretched to block Dimitri from Caspar. Ashe’s face was set with determination, almost spite even, and for once Caspar actually saw him staring down the prince with impunity. “From the day House Rowe fell, I have been with Caspar working against Imperial Troops, and that was before either of us ever even had a hint of a thought about joining Kingdom forces to strike back. We didn’t even know you were alive at that point. I will vouch for his compliance and sincerity, on my honor and my life.”

A beat of silence filled the air as Ashe’s words registered. Weakly, Caspar tried to grasp up at him to pull him back. “Wait…Ashe…”

“No.” Dimitri glared around at Caspar, cowing him into silence before resuming staring at Ashe. “If you are willing to make such an offer, then I shall oblige. From here on out, Caspar is your ward and your responsibility. If he makes an action I deem reprehensible or worthy of punishment, you will receive it equally. Understood?”

The cathedral exploded in a mass of rebuttals, swears, and insults being tossed at the prince, largely from Felix and Sylvain. Mercedes and Marianne clung to Dimitri’s robes as he tried to shrug off his detractors, begging him to reconsider, while Dorothea, Ignatz, Ingrid and Annette wisely stood back, not wanting to trouble the prince further. Finally, Ashe held up his hand, continuing to stare Dimitri squarely in the eyes.

“Understood, Your Highness. I agree to your terms.”  
  
“What? Ashe!” Annette cried as Felix and Sylvain prepared a tirade again, but Ashe simply smiled and waved his hand nonchalantly.

“Relax, everyone. Do none of you truly believe that Caspar is innocent?” The room quieted, and Felix tilted his head, squinting.

“Well, yes, we know he’s innocent, but that’s not really-“  
  
“Then don’t be so bothered by it.” Ashe’s voice was a strained mimic of a laugh, and it suddenly dawned on Caspar that he was desperately trying to calm everyone’s nerves right now. “It’s a minor inconvenience if anything, and I’m not bothered by it at all, really. Trust me and Caspar, please. It’s so much easier this way.”

Felix stared away, grumbling something about the principle of the thing before stalking away. Hesitantly, the other members of the class filtered out as well until only Ashe, Dimitri and Caspar remained. The prince only nodded his head once before turning his back on the pair, practically dismissing them without a word. Caspar briefly glared at his partner, attempting to convey multiple feeling at once, each without much of a given success if Ashe’s returned gaze of confusion was anything to judge by. He turned to head back on his way to his room in order to shower (and inspect his neck for bruising) before he saw Dimitri hold up his hand, beckoning him back.

“Hold a moment, Caspar.” The prince’s voice was much softer than it was just moments ago, and Caspar could almost swear he saw a twinge of regret written in the many lines across the prince’s face. Reaching around, he pulled something from his pockets and extended it to the blue-haired mercenary, who blankly excepted the coil of rope with about as little understanding as he could possibly manage. Dimitri didn’t give him a chance to question him, turning to direct his attention head-on. “When we defeat Randolph upon his attack on the monastery, I wish for him to be captured, not killed. If you are truly loyal to the Kingdom, I trust that you can be given the task of bringing him in alive. Understood?”  
  
Caspar couldn’t quite give voice to the thoughts in his head, so he only stammered a “yes” as the prince strolled past across the bridge. He shook his head, completely confounded by the complete turnaround he had just gone through. Three minutes ago, he had nearly choked Caspar to death in a rage over him merely being related to Randolph, and now he was asking Caspar to personally make sure Randolph was spared from the battle? It made absolutely no sense, but if he was willing to extend this kindness to Randolph, then perhaps… Thinking all of this, the boy completely missed the varied expressions Ashe wore as the conversation played out, straying from confused, concerned, and then downright horrified. He only snapped out when his partner grabbed his shoulder urgently, yanking him out of his own whirlwind of thoughts.

“You know he’s not asking you to do that from the kindness of his heart.” Ashe sighed as he sat next to Caspar, examining the rope dispassionately. “I can’t imagine the various reasons he would have to spare Randolph, and the ones I can imagine aren’t particularly pleasant.” Caspar shook his head, grimacing heavily. Ashe was right, of course, but still…the thought alone was comforting to him, that there was a chance that Dimitri wanted to spare Randolph, and perhaps others as the war went on, that the boar prince was maybe not as bloodthirsty and feral as everyone was saying he was. It was a distant hope, a vague wish that slipped through his fingers, and yet…

He shook his head, snapping him out of the thought. Spending five years with Ashe had made him particularly susceptible to being starry-eyed and dreamy like that. And besides, it didn’t particularly matter anyways. “Eh, even if he’s not, what does that really change? You heard him, this is pretty much his breaking point for whether he not he trusts me. And since you decided to stake your life for me- which I never asked you to do, by the way- that goes for both of us. And I can imagine he’ll have some choice punishments for the both of us if we just decide to disregard him and do our own thing.”

“Right.” Ashe’s grimace mirrored his own now, and Caspar almost smiled through it as he marveled at how quickly the two settled into each others’ moods after their five years together. He motioned for the wyvern rider to stand up, and together they walked back to the dorms. “So, what’s the plan, then?” Caspar looked sharply over to him, bewildered once again.

“What do you mean?”  
  
Ashe spread his arms mockingly, a borad grin filling his face. “Well, given Dimitri is almost certainly going to do something you don’t really want him to do, I assume you’re going to turn your brain off and do something both of us will end up regretting. So I’m going to have to figure out some idea in order to keep both of us safe, which I would appreciate your help on.” Goddess, sometimes Ashe reminded Caspar so much of Linhardt it really hurt.

“You’re asking me to plan ahead for my own braindead moments? I dunno Ashe, you know I can be kinda unpredictable.”  
  
“Yes, I’m well aware,” he replied curtly. “Whatever, do what you like. I’m sure I’ll end up doing something equally rash regardless and we’ll have to rely on everyone else to keep our heads on our shoulders.”  
  
Caspar huffed. “You say that like we’re planning on committing treason. Let’s just calm down and play things by ear for now, yeah?”  
  


Ashe shrugged noncommittally. “I suppose,” he replied. “But all of a sudden I’m quite exhausted. I don’t suppose it would be too much to turn in for the night?”

“Absolutely not.” Caspar grinned as Ashe turned away to his own room, knowing full well the boy was making an excuse to retire and read into his old stories, likely looking to see if there were any examples of “knights who had to rescue their dumbass friends from being dumbasses and pissing off a deranged king that still needed to lead their army” in the books. Somehow, Caspar doubted it, though he could feel himself beginning to get weary himself. However, he stopped himself from going to his room quite yet, brushing past Ashe’s door to walk to the other end of the lower-school dorms where an old friend’s dorm sat. The door was still lazily propped open, and as Caspar peeked in, he smiled sadly at the scattered papers and overturned sheets from someone who couldn’t possibly care less.

_“Commander Linhardt von Hevring,” Shamir said with a mild sneer, “is stationed in Fort Merceus. I have some spies stationed there who have confirmed his position there, though none can take particular action. I assume that Fort will be our first mission once we breach Imperial borders, so we’ll at least get him out of the way quickly.”_

Caspar grit his teeth sharply against his cheek, drawing blood in the process. His concern for Ashe, his concern for Randolph, his desire to see Dimitri taking mercy on Imperial troops…it all boiled down to that fact. Linhardt was smack dab in the warpath, and Caspar didn’t have anyone to divulge how absolutely anxious that fact made him. It wouldn’t be fair to Ashe, not now that they were in a relationship, and everyone else was just dispassionate about it save Dorothea, who was in such a state now that he couldn’t bear giving the songstress more of a burden. But none of that changed the fact that he cared about the path the Kingdom was going to be treading, and who it was going to hurt. And yet, he couldn’t deny that it was the path he needed to take, and a cause that he believed in. Frustrated, he laid back in his old friend’s bed, clutching his head as the thoughts rebelled against him.

For his entire childhood, he had believed in fighting for justice, hurting the bad guys, killing those who put others in danger. But now there was his uncle, and further down the line his best friend. His classmates, his father, his own citizens? When would the conflict end there? When did fighting for justice stop and bloodbaths begin? He didn’t realize as the conflict swirled in his head that the nails of his fingers were digging into his scalp, drawing light tracks of blood that wet his head.

“Damn it all.” He whispered harshly into the bleak, unforgiving night.


	6. Squabbles and Bets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catherine and Shamir reconnect after spending so much time apart, but Catherine has a hard time understanding Shamir's distance regarding a lost friend.

“Damn it, Shamir, you can’t just keep shrugging it off!”

Catherine was pursuing Shamir for the fifth time since the Knights of Seiros had reunited at Garreg Mach, and for the exact same reason she had pursued the sniper every other time. The two had brought each other up to snuff on nearly everything that had transpired between them in the time since they had been directed in exactly opposite directions in their search for Lady Rhea, and things had seemed, aside from depressingly inconclusive, relatively tame overall. They had cut back talking about harrowing ventures, traded updates about their opponents positions, even flirted a little. 

Then Shamir very casually dropped that her favorite pupil, Cyril, was missing and presumed dead. Every time Catherine brought it up from there had resulted in her partner shrugging the question off, turning away in a brazen and almost careless manner. Honestly, it was to the point where it was beginning to piss Catherine off.

“Hold on, Shamir, please! I want to talk about this!”

“And I don’t,” Shamir replied, not even turning to look back at Catherine as she moved forward. “Deal with it. If you want to talk, tell Gilbert. I gave him the full debriefing.”

Catherine clenched her fists now, complete in disbelief over Shamir’s detachment. “Yeah, well Gilbert wasn’t Cyril’s teacher for so many years. What makes you think I’m only asking for information?” The Dagdan finally paused, allowing Catherine to catch up.

“You’re really that concerned, are you?” Catherine flushed as Shamir’s words suddenly turned soft and gentle, and she turned fully around to greet Catherine with a smile. “That’s…kind of touching, partner. I meant it when I said I don’t want to talk about it, but it’s more because the lack of information makes it pointless anyways. The spies just came and said Cyril didn’t make it out of Myrddin, and no matter how much they looked for him they couldn’t find him. Hell, I spent months travelling the whole Empire half just to find him. He just didn’t turn up. Nobody made any mention of him being captured or executed, so the best I can assume is that he’s-“

“Dead?” Catherine interrupted, incredulous. “You really think Cyril just up and died like that? The kid’s got grit, you know that just as well as I-“

“Grit doesn’t save lives.” Shamir cut in, her eyes darkening in anger. “Everyone I knew at Dagda had grit to spare, and look what happened to them. Sometimes you just face things you can’t overcome, and you die. And sometimes you get left behind by someone you thought you could trust, isn’t that right?”

Now it was Catherine’s turn to flush angrily. “What exactly do you mean by that, old friend?” She added venom to the last couple of words, hinting to her partner not to take the topic farther. Of course, Shamir was happy to completely ignore her.

“Cristophe Gaspard. I heard the story, you know. About how he was turned in by the one person he confided in because of her blind love for Lady Rhea.”

“Don’t bring Lady Rhea into-“ Catherine began, but Shamir cut her off.

“He was immediately imprisoned and executed, and nothing more was ever sought from that entire debacle. Looks like everyone involved just played their part and never looked back. You really think I’m wrong to give up on Cyril? You didn’t even wait a day to give up on Cristophe. Don’t try to preach to me, Catherine.”

“Well, I-“ Catherine tried to come up with a rebuttal, but her brain didn’t quite catch up at that point. Depressingly enough, she was pretty much guilty on all accounts of what Shamir was accusing her of. “I…you’re right, I’m sorry.” She finally said, dropping her head. “I know you probably did what you could, but it’s still so frustrating. He was a good kid, all things considered.”

“Good kid, huh?” Something in Shamir’s voice belied a smirk, and Catherine looked up to see her eyes glistening as she smiled. “Well, I suppose someone like you would say something like that. He loved Rhea, didn’t think things through well, and was single-minded and stubborn as an ox. You two would have gotten along fantastically.”

“We would?” Catherine mused, smiling to herself. “Honestly? Yeah. Probably would. The kid always rubbed me the right way, you know.” 

“Mm.”

Catherine sighed now, finally allowing her body to relax now. The weeks since the group had met at the monastery had been tense ever since Shamir dropped the news at her, but as they stood together now, Catherine could feel the waves of tension rolling off her as the silence lapsed into something more palatable: the comfortable, tender thing they had before the Empire’s revolt. Speaking of…

“The Imperial troops are slated to be here in a few hours, you know.” Catherine mentioned. “Soon we’re gonna be right back at it, taking armies down together like we used to.”

“Right.” Shamir nodded noncommittally, preferring to focus on the state of her bow. “You and Thunderbrand all ready to take down your usual dose of heretics and warmongerers?” 

“Hey, when you say it like that it sounds like I’m a zealot! I’m just dedicated to Lady Rhea and the Goddess, is all.”

“…That’s what a zealot is, Catherine.” Catherine blanked once again, then started laughing.

“Oh, Goddess, I’ve become a zealot, haven’t I? It’s weird though, I’m not all about holding to tenants and being the epitome of a crest-bearing noble like the stiffs there used to be. I just know who I’m fighting for, you know?”

Silence. Catherine gulped, wondering if she once again said something to set Shamir off. She never meant to with the dark-haired sniper, but all the same, she always seemed to-

“You know, Catherine, that’s actually pretty brilliant.” Catherine gasped at the sincere smile her partner wore as she looked over to her. “I have to admit, I kind of envy that in you. I’m just in it for the money, honestly. I could care less what happens to Fodlan. But having a purpose like you do…that’s not half bad, honestly. Even if I disagree in how foolhardy you can be in it.”

“Yeah, well…” Strike three. Catherine was really having a hard time catching up with Shamir today. “Listen, all this talking is getting me down. Why don’t we go to the training grounds and spar out for a little bit. Gotta be fit for Randolph’s army, you know.”

A ghost of a smile split Shamir’s face. “You know, that would probably be fine. Sadly, I don’t think we’re long for it.” She pointed past Catherine, who turned to see a sentry sprinting up the steps of the monastery to approach the two.

“Sudden report!” The man screamed. “Randolph’s army has invaded quicker than expected! All troops rally to the monastery’s walls immediately! We must make our stand here and now!” He ran past the two without pause, continuing his shouts as he made his way.

“Here already?” Catherine grasped at her head. “He must be trying to force a move while we’re unprepared. We need to intercept them immediately to buy them more time. Ready for this?”

She didn’t need an answer, as Shamir was already busy stringing her bow, a wicked gleam entering her eye. “I see fliers coming in from above, warriors making the frontlines below. Majority of the troops aligned in the center, so that’s where we set the brunt. You think you can handle the first wave?”

Thunderbrand crackled a response, glowing and sparking with life as Catherine focused herself. “I could handle them all myself, Shamir. You just make things easier for me.”

“Oh?” The Sniper raised her bow, letting an arrow fly off into the distance. Catherine wondered if it was just for show, until she heard a far off cry from beyond the monastery walls. Stunned, she turned to Shamir, who simply smirked and nocked another arrow.

“You’re infuriatingly incredible, you know that?”

“Not all of us need crests to become monsters on the battlefield.” Ah, the playful banter before a fight. Catherine had missed that.

“You think I’m only good for my Crest? How about we make a bet?” She sheathed Thunderbrand, whipping out a regular sword made of steel in its place. “I don’t use Thunderbrand until we get reinforcements. Between you and me, whoever gets the most kills from there buys the other dinner. Got it?”

“You’re on.”

Grinning, Catherine turned to face the incoming army. Just as Shamir predicted, the first ground soldiers were hulking axemen, well stronger looking than Catherine could ever make herself be. Which mattered precious little as she easily wove her body around the crushing blow he had planned for her and buried her sword hilt-deep into the hole in his helmet that allowed him sight. The warrior didn’t even have time to scream before the blade pierced his brain, and he fell lifelessly to the ground. Snarling fiercely, Catherine planted herself onto the ground, and watched to see Shamir readying her bow, trading her snarl for a mirthless smirk of disdain.

“That’s one.” Catherin growled. And the game had just begun.


	7. A Crushing Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word from a friend has Caspar continuing to struggle with his place in the Blue Lions against the Empire. Dimitri does not make a good case for the Blue Lions.

Caspar whirled his gauntlets around in a circle tearing skin as the claws rent his opponents apart on the battlefield. The battle against Randolph’s troops was going full-swing: bodies littered the ground before him, and he could hear the sounds of battle in the air as well. Gilbert’s plan to initiate a fire in the middle of the monastery had effectively cripple the standing troops, however, and Caspar was leading the group to the leader of the army, who was standing at the entrance with eye lit by flame.

Randolph, his uncle.

Caspar clutched and the length of rope looped around his belt. He had snatched it the moment he had heard call that Randolph’s troops were coming, his mouth dry with fear. Not that he would lose to his uncle, of course, he was incredibly confident in his own strength. Rather, he was worried about what would happen after he defeated Randolph. Dimitri…he just couldn’t be trusted. Caspar wasn’t sure what he would be able to do to help his uncle under the thumb of a commander like the prince, and the thought terrified him.

“Caspar!” 

The war master jolted as the voice nearly blasted in his ear. When had Felix gotten right next to him? “I’ll take his cohorts.” He motioned with his sword and Caspar saw that, damn, they had all but run straight up to his uncle’s personal forces. “You do what needs to be done with your uncle!”

Caspar’s mouth dried up. Okay. He could do this. He could absolutely take his uncle down and hand him over to a crazed prince who was going to do only wholesome things once he did. Definitely.

“You…Caspar?”

Shit.

Caspar curled his fists inside his gauntlets as he turned to face his uncle. “Hey, Randolph.” Curse him, his voice squeaked as he addressed his uncle, and he couldn’t stop the blush that came to his face.

“So, you’re siding against the Empire. I might have known from your disappearance.”

“And the fact that my father basically declared me as not being his anymore and then joined Edelgard to try to make all of Fodlan the Empire’s own little territory again?” Randolph opened his mouth to protest, but Caspar waved him off. “Whatever, it’s not like any of that is important now. You gonna try and work diplomacy or do what you signed up for? I dunno about you, but Bergliez men aren’t really known for talking from what I grew up in.” Randolph gripped his axe eagerly now, his scowl forming into a feral snarl of a man in battle.

“Very well, then. Have at you!”

His uncle led with an overhead strike, an easily maneuverable action that Caspar quickly wove around. In retaliation, he swept the claws of his gauntlet across what used to be Randolph’s torso, but quickly became nothing but air as his uncle dodged to the side. Caspar grinned at the interaction. His uncle was smart and wary of him, but far too slow to beat him down. As long as Caspar wasn’t cocky- which was, perhaps, asking a lot, he realized- he could even take Randolph down without killing him.

The thought was interrupted as Randolph swung his axe sideways, attempting to cripple Caspar in the legs. The brawler leapt back to avoid the blade, then lunged forward to slam a closed fist into his uncle’s chest. The man staggered back, gasping, and then lunged forward again. 

“Before I left to receive you, I was brought orders from a certain general in Fort Merceus,” he said, barely audible above the war even as he passed by Caspar’s ear. The blue haired mercenary turned in shock, staring his uncle down at the news. “He asked me, above all else, to take a single prisoner if I could, and return him safely to the fort. I think you know who it is I’m speaking of. He wants to see you, Caspar.”

Caspar did know who it was, damn him, and he hated that a part of him felt a sense of longing at the news. Linhardt actually cared enough to personally request that Caspar be brought back safe. Somehow that was more breaking than the fact that he was currently fighting his uncle, possibly to the death. Caspar briefly wondered how and when his relationships had gotten so mixed up. 

“I know the man you work under, Caspar.” Randolph continued, and Caspar briefly realized that the two had stopped sparring briefly. No matter, honestly, the battlefield was mostly cleared out at this point. “I know you don’t care for the way he’s acting. I’m not asking you to give up on what happens to Fodlan, but hear Linhardt out. It should mean something to you that he’s willing to fight for what Edelgard is doing. I swear, if you come, I can call this whole thing off and just leave with you. Her Majesty will be appeased with that.” He reached out his hand, imploring silently, begging with those stupid honest eyes that Caspar had always been told he had.

And Caspar cursed himself because damn it, he was hesitating. Yes, he was opposed to the Empire, and yes he didn’t want to live his life as a prisoner, but still…

Still…

“Caspar!”

Another voice from the skies, more desperate and wild than ever spurred Caspar awake. Reacting quickly, he tumbled forward, but not before an Imperial soldier tackled his legs, trying to pin his arms to the ground. He landed in a heap, but immediately turned on his back to kick out at the soldier, who had been trying to shackle his legs. He felt his arms pulled back as Randolph tried to restrain him himself, felt his wrists pinned together as Randolph tried to secure them with shackles, felt his legs pulled up as the soldier he kicked at did the same with his ankles, and suddenly he was really wondering what happened to Felix.

Then suddenly both men let out cries of pain, dropping Caspar in a heap. Caspar quickly threw the chains off, rounding to the soldier who was already lying in a heap, chest pierced by the sword Felix was calmly wiping dry. He then turned to the second object of his attention, who was angrily nursing a blue-feathered arrow out of his shoulder. Before he could recover, Caspar did the only thing he could really think of: he threw off his gauntlet and full force slammed Randolph in the face, knocking him to the ground, unconscious.

*******

“Caspar! Gods damn it, let me go!”

Randolph was kneeling in front of the monastery, being held in place by Caspar as he struggled in his bonds. The Prince had declined immediate action against the commander, choosing instead to wait until he was conscious and go for consultation himself. Which was quite an odd thing to say, given he requested neither Byleth nor Gilbert to accompany him. Caspar tried not to think about it too much. Ashe had been sent the moment Randolph awakened, so now it was only him and Caspar, alongside Marianne and Mercedes who had tended to the wounds of both.

“You can’t keep me like this, please! The prince, he’ll…what do you expect him to do to me, Caspar?” Caspar could only grimace at the words, but he couldn’t respond. Words would betray him if he tried, anyways. Presently, the doors to the monastery opened, and Dimitri emerged alongside Ashe, who bowed out before disappearing over to the wyvern yard, likely to reward his steed Lona for her admirable work. 

“You healed him?” Dimitri drawled to Mercedes and Marianne, who both meekly nodded. The prince only scowled in return, turning to glare at the commander again. “Worthless…though it will hardly matter.”

“W-what?” Randolph’s mouth opened and closed in sheer terror, his eyes dilated at the sight of the prince. “You scum! I demand you, let me go! Please, I have a family! A sister, she’s barely even-“

“Did the people you killed in battle have families, general” The prince laughed mirthlessly. “Or do your morals apply only to yourself? What a worthless cur. Caspar, keep him still.” 

Caspar felt his blood chill, then rush in an uncomfortable flash of fear. What exactly was the prince planning? The thought became immediately evident as Dimitri whipped out a knife, coming uncomfortably close to the pair. “The dead will have their due…” he murmured to himself, and he moved the knife upwards, directing it to Randolph’s head…to his eyes.

“No…no, please! Have mercy, I beg of you!” He thrashed in his bonds, and Caspar had to hold him back from impaling himself on the prince’s knife. Immediately, Marianne and Mercedes jumped between the two, staring Dimitri down.

“Your Highness, no! Please, this isn’t right!”

“Randolph doesn’t deserve this, Dimitri. Please, see reason!”

“Caspar…” The boy looked down to see Randolph looking up at him, eyes wide with fear. “Please…end this now. He’s feral, and I won’t be able to take this. If you have any sense of justice, any respect for me, or your family, or Linhardt, please. End me now!”

Time slowed. Caspar became cognizant of the fact that his other hand still had his gauntlet on. Marianne and Mercedes were pushing against Dimitri. Randolph’s lips moved softly and slowly, forming a single word.

“Please…”

Caspar breathed.

His fist went up of its own volition. He could feel Dimitri’s eyes suddenly latch onto him, hear his breath catch as he realized what the former noble was going to do. For just a single moment, the room froze.

Then Caspar’s gauntlet slammed into his uncle’s head, in the back where it was at its weakest. Caspar groaned as he felt every layer of Randolph’s head cave under his hand; skin, bone, organs, all caving in. He immediately fell forward, a dead weight, a mix of blood and brain fluid oozing out of the hole Caspar made in his head. 

“What…what is the meaning of this?” The shock quickly formed into a growl of rage as Dimitri lunged forward, grabbing for the brawler before Caspar felt himself pulled back as a giant wall of scales slammed itself between the two from above. A roar of defiance reverberated through the air as Lona scratched at the air in front of Dimitri, Ashe riding as he defiantly directed it to impede the prince’s path. Confused, Caspar turned to see Felix of all people continuing to drag him back, a scowl on his face. 

“It’s disgusting that I’m not even remotely surprised that’s what the boar had in mind,” he growled. “But good on you for putting an end to it.”

“Ashe!” Dimitri roared as the silver-haired youth continued to block him. “You and Caspar both! Traitors! I will have your-“

“Dimitri, that’s enough!” The room froze as Byleth stormed in, a fire in his eyes as he rounded Mercedes and Marianne’s stupefied forms to confront the prince. “I will not have you harm my students. This is absolutely unacceptable, and if you intend to keep on this, we will fight, here and now.”

“They defied me!” The prince roared. “I gave them both a chance, and they failed. I will have them both atone, in equal measure!” The professor stood back, crossing his arms in a still defiant manner. 

“If you’re absolutely insistent about this after we talk, then fine. But you’re not making the decision now, and you’re certainly not going to be the only one making the decision later. For now, they can be put in a secure location and we can decide what to do with them later.”

Dimitri considered the idea, then turned to Caspar. “Felix. Sylvain.”

Caspar flushed as he realized that he was directing his attention to Felix, who begrudgingly walked forward with Caspar still in his arms. Ashe climbed down from the wyvern to be received by Sylvain, who had rushed in along with Byleth.

“Take these two to the dungeons. They can wait there as we decide what to do with them. Make them as uncomfortable as you can,” he spat before turning away with the professor, walking back inside the monastery.

The silence was palpable before Felix turned away, spitting onto the ground with disgust. “Fuck him, and fuck the professor for being that lenient on him” he spat before turning to Ashe and Caspar. “You two have any ideas of leaving?” Stunned, Caspar shook his head, sensing Ashe do the same beside him. “Then lay low in your rooms until the boar decides whatever he pleases. Literally nobody else in this entire monastery is against you, and I guarantee you whatever ‘punishment’ you get we’ll fight against.” He lightly shoved Caspar forward, and the group walked forward together to the monastery’s entrance.

“What are we going to do?” Marianne wrung her hands sadly as the group moved silently through the grounds. “The prince…I’m scared he’s not going to snap out of this at this rate…”

“Snap out of what?” Felix scoffed. “He died a long time ago. You’re asking a corpse to snap out of being dead.”

“Felix, please.” Mercedes begged. The swordsman only threw up his hands as they turned to the groups’ rooms. Sylvain playfully pushed Ashe into his room, jokingly making a flimsy barricade to “trap” the archer. Mercedes calmly waved a farewell, lingering slightly for everyone to turn before she entered in. Presently, they finally reached Caspar’s room, and he turned to see three very curious looking faces staring back at him.

“Okay…what is it?” Felix stepped forward, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“We just…wanted to say we’re behind you. For doing what you did, I mean.” Caspar nearly laughed at how ridiculous the statement was, but the sincerity on their faces stopped him. “It takes guts to stand up to the boar. Especially when he’s all but spelled out there’s a death sentenced attached to that for you. And also…that we’re happy you refused your Uncle during the battle.”

Oh, Goddess, did Caspar’s stomach sink. Of course Felix had overheard his and Randolph’s pow-wow. 

“You still have every right to leave, you know.” Felix offered, but something in Caspar’s eyes made him stop there. “Or…you could continue to be insane like the rest of us and follow a deranged boar-king. Cool. At least I know it’s not just me who realizes how crazy this is.” Sylvain made a small sound of protest, but Felix waved him off. “Point is, do what you want to do. We’re still your class, all things considered.”

Caspar suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable. This was Felix. Stubborn, sarcastic, cutting Felix, acting like an actual friend. What was the world coming to? Apparently the swordsman felt the same sentiment, as he immediately flushed and turned from the door. 

“Well, anyways, if you decide you’re not crazy and value your own life, let us know. We’ll send Marianne to bring food when you need it. Good night.” He stumbled away, Sylvain following close by. Marianne smiled after them, before suddenly realizing that she was completely alone with Caspar in the middle of the night. She blushed furiously and bowed a good night as well, leaving Caspar absolutely speechless in the doorway to his room.

He had just captured his uncle, subsequently killed him (technically a war crime, even if he was doing it to prevent another war crime), been almost killed by the prince, been saved, and then been offered the closest thing to friendship from Felix Hugo Frauldarius, all without him saying hardly a word to defend himself or thank anybody. Shaking his head, he decided he had just completely short-circuited at this point. Shakily, he walked to his bed, shook off his armor, removed his covers, and climbed in while pulling the blanket over his head.

He was most definitely going to have a breakdown when he woke up tomorrow morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, reading over it, I realized the previous chapter erred on the side of being a bit boring and didn't really have that spruce. So, I decided to give war, action, suspense, gore, and raging Dimitri all in one chapter. Hopefully I didn't spread it all too thin. Enjoy!


	8. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catherine has to help curb Dimitri's anger after Caspar and Ashe defy him. Doing so reminds her of all the reasons she's not sorry he left home.

Catherine rubbed at an aching spot on her forehead. Only recently had she been freed from the utterly terrible fate of being trapped in a conference meeting with Gilbert, Dimitri, and Byleth to consider what to do about the problems Caspar and Ashe had created. As Kingdom nobles, the likes of Sylvain, Annette, Felix, and Ingrid had also been invited to partake in the conference, but that had quickly gone south once the group had stubbornly refused to accept any action beyond complete amnesty. And so, it had fallen to the “adults” and Dimitri, and so had progressed the most infuriating back and forth Catherine had ever taken part in.

Dimitri had begun with putting execution on the table, which had earned a sharp reprimand from Byleth. He then backed down to simply providing the same punishment he had been about to administer to Randolph, which Catherine personally thought was hardly an improvement, prompting herself, Byleth and Gilbert all to both vehemently oppose the idea. The older knight then provide a general insubordination sentence of thirty lashes each alongside manual labor when off-duty, which Catherine and Byleth still found too harsh.

“Isn’t there a precedent of a knight refusing to give in to an unjust or overly cruel law?” Catherine had pondered aloud. “Surely there’s a reduced sentence in such a case.”

“Such a thing indeed has a precedent,” Gilbert had drawled in his annoyingly stubborn…drawl. “But the case was favored in keeping the initial sentence. Poor precedents would be made if knights figured they could defy their king at even the barest hint of their personal morals being offended. Knighthood promotes complete loyalty to a king, after all.”

Catherine cursed. Damn Faerghus, of course they would make a decision like that. Chivalry was about the most asinine rule that the country had ever decided to dive head-first into, and about the only thing from her early life she didn’t want to touch in her current personal life. 

“Really, though, this punishment is too much,” Byleth had pled. “All Caspar did was keep Prince Dimitri from committing a crime of war. There’s no need to-“

“Give them an option.” Dimitri spoke casually, almost disinterestedly. “Truthfully, I have no quarrel against them aside from killing Randolph before I could satiate the voices calling for his torture. So allow them thirty lashes and the ability to stay and fight, or half that number and they are forced to leave the monastery. Their choice.” And with that, the deranged prince had refused to budge, and with Gilbert backing him up the group found itself at an impasse. 

Now, they were taking a break as Byleth summoned Ashe and Caspar to weigh in on the option they had been given.

“Catherine!” The woman jolted as Hanneman, Seteth, Dorothea, and Ignatz all made their way into the war meeting room. The old scholar seemed to be the one leading the group, and he seemed properly miffed. “What exactly is all this nonsense about you punishing former students for preventing a torturing? This is absolutely appalling, of all the-“

“We did what we could, Hanneman.” Catherine growled. “like it or not, there are some stuck up and unreasonable people here who pride loyalty and obedience over being kind. And sometimes making an example and keeping things in line needs to take priority over justice. Caspar and Ashe both knew what they were doing when they took action. Let them accept the punishment they risked for their actions.”

“Let them?” This time it was Ignatz who was affronted. “You’re acting like punishment is a necessity for just being decent at this point!”

“Sometimes it is.” Catherine sighed. “War isn’t forgiving, Ignatz. I’m not saying I agree with the prince’s decision, but sometimes you can’t just get away with straying from the rules. Honestly, I don’t know where I stand on this whole deal myself. I wish Lady Rhea was here to talk sense into everyone.”

“I’m not sure that would have helped…” Seteth muttered, just loud enough for Catherine to hear, but before she could respond in kind, Byleth was walking up to the war room, Ashe and Caspar in line behind him. Catherine noticed both were walking free, but nobody seemed particularly inclined to comment on the fact. Byleth motioned over to the table in the center of the room and sat, motioning for the boys to take the opposite side as Catherine sat beside her.

“So, we have some bad news to share,” Byleth said grimly, and for all the tension in the air Catherine could already have slapped the professor. For their part, Ashe and Caspar seemed relatively stoic in the face of the professor’s foreboding tone. “We tried as hard as we could with the prince, we really did, but in the end we were left with two options.” The pair nodded their heads slowly, their faces more rapt with attention now than fearful. “Option one: you each receive fifteen lashes and are forced to leave the monastery and this army until further notice.” Caspar winced, but otherwise the two seemed relatively understanding of the rule. “Option two: you each receive double that number alongside being subjected to general labor around the army when we are not preparing for battle, but are otherwise free to do what you wish.”

The room fell silent as the two pondered their options, though Catherine herself was wondering why the two were even considering it. She knew Caspar and Ashe, of course; anyone who did was aware of which option they both would take in a heartbeat. Indeed, the two merely looked into each other’s eyes and nodded before turning to the professor with certainty in their eyes.

“Option two.” Ashe whispered quietly. Caspar nodded his assent, and Byleth fell back. 

“Thank the Goddess, he whispered, which Catherine found somewhat ironic. “I’m happy to keep you both here at the monastery, well and truly.”

“Thank you,” Ashe bowed his head before suddenly looking quite nervous. “So…when exactly are we doing this?”

“Now.” Catherine jumped as Dimitri emerged behind her, folding his arms derisively. “I wish for this punishment to be through as quickly as possible, so we may move on and take the next obstacle in out path to the Empire. Catherine, you will be in charge of Ashe.”

Catherine gulped. The way Dimitri said “in charge of” did not fill her with much hope.

With the rest of the group travelling behind, the four made their way to the front of Garreg Mach, where Catherine’s heart sank as she saw two poles erected in the center of the village. That had to be Gilbert’s work, and it sickened Catherine to the bone to see it. 

“Secure their hands.” Dimitri said offhandedly as he lashed Caspar to the pole. Catherine couldn’t help it. She met Ashe’s eyes, and couldn’t help but be flashed back five years to the past, to a quavering, scared young boy crying about his father, to him challenging her about Cristophe, to him standing over her as he tried to brave mages and pegasi of the Western Church. All of a sudden, her heart seemed to stop.

“I…”

“Catherine.” The softness in Ashe’s voice shocked her, and she looked down to meet his smiling eyes again. “It’s not like with Cristophe you know.” 

Cristophe? What was he-?

“This is fine for me, really. You don’t have to feel bad about doing something to hurt me. I accept this, Catherine. And honestly, I’m more than willing to accept you doing it. Honestly, I’d rather get this over with.”

A scream reverberated through the air next to Catherine, and she jumped as she saw Caspar lurch forward, a stripe of blood streaming from his back. Ignoring the gazes of the gathering members of the army and knights of Seiros, Dimitri simply whirled the whip in the air and reset to his original position. “One.” He counted.

“Someone, at least give him something to bite down on!” The cry came for Mercedes, and Catherine could hear people shuffling around as they tried to find strips of cloth or leather to keep the two soldiers from hurting themselves during the process. Catherine turned to see Ashe biting down on a strip that Marianne was offering, before she ran off wordlessly, tears streaking her cheeks.

Goddess, this was really hard on all of them, wasn’t it? Well, the prince excluded. Breathing heavily, Catherine readied herself, gathering the whip by the post with one hand and readying herself. Ashe looked back one last time, encouraging her gently with those damned honest green eyes before reverting his gaze steadfastly at the pole in front of him. Catherine cursed before her breath, both at the boy’s damned honesty and at his damned quickness to put himself in danger, and at herself for playing along like this while she was at it. Finally, she reared back her whip and released, allowing the wicked lash to whirl through the air and land its target.

“One.”

*************************************************************

The day was a less miserable one, honestly, once it was over. Caspar and Ashe had been immediately relegated to Manuela’s ward for treatment, which Catherine supposed wasn’t the worst place for a pair of reasonably attractive and shirtless men to be for the night…or perhaps it was absolutely the worst place they could possibly be, depending on the situation. Regardless, once she understood they were being cared for, Catherine let her guard down and searched for someone she had wanted to talk to since the debacle began. She finally found the elusive Sniper hiding out at the training grounds, hastily scrambling to place some quivers in a bag.

“…Shamir? What are you doing?” The sniper jumped before guiltily turning to see Catherine, then continuing on with confidence.

“Oh, Catherine. Just in time, really. I was just going to talk to you. I’m leaving Fodlan.” Catherine balked.

“Leaving Fodlan? You can’t be serious, Shamir. What about the knights? The war? Lady Rhea?”

Shamir held up three fingers, proceeding to count them down. “The knights of Seiros aren’t my group. I’m a mercenary, an outsider. I get along with very few of them, and I get along well with even fewer. You and Alois are good friends, so I at least was going to let you two know before I left.” One finger. “The war doesn’t concern me, particularly when both leading sides seem to be headed by a couple of nutjobs with little to no sense of morality. The prince’s actions after this last battle proved as much.” Two fingers. “And I don’t care about Lady Rhea.” Three fingers.

“Shamir, please.” Catherine begged. “Isn’t there some reason you would want to stay?” Shamir considered the question.

“I like some of the people here,” she admitted. “But nobody really bonds to me to the point that I want to hold out so long.”

“But what about Cyril? What if we conquer the Empire and we find out he was alive the whole time?”

“Good. Tell him I said congrats for staying alive in such a hellhole.”

“And what about me?” The words popped out before Catherine could stop them, but they had the intended effect. Shamir stopped, blushing, and turned to look at Catherine head on.

“…what?” Now it was Catherine’s turn to blush.

“I…I care about you, Shamir. A lot, really. I want you to stay in Fodlan…for as long as you possibly can. I want to fight people together, and hang out together, and conquer the Empire and save Lady Rhea together…all so that we can live in a peaceful continent. Together, Shamir.”

The sniper sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with a hand. “You…say really stupid things, Catherine. Possibly at the worst possible times.”

“Come on, Shamir.” Catherine continued begging, now pulling on the other woman’s sleeve. “At least wait the war out. If you fight with us, you get to eliminate at least one bad guy, right? And maybe we’ll find another reason to stay together, too. And if not, we…well, we both might be able to leave…eventually. Maybe.”

Catherine blushed. What the hell was she saying? She had pledged her life to Lady Rhea, right? Why was she offering to leave with Shamir? And yet…it felt right, somehow.

“…Deal.” The words shook Catherine, and she looked up to see her partner smiling down on her. “If you want to so bad, I’ll stay. But no more of this stupid begging and feeling sorry for yourself, all right?”

Catherine nodded. “Right.” Shamir laughed before removing some quivers from the bag and beginning to string a bow, causing Catherine to tilt her head questioningly. “What are you doing?”

“There’s only one reason you would be searching for me right now, partner, and that’s to spar. Am I right?” 

Catherine almost numbly nodded, having completely forgotten the reason she was looking for Shamir in the first place. Almost eagerly, she reached for her blade, before remembering her earlier bet. “Hey, Shamir, did you happen to keep track of how many soldiers you took down before we got help?” Shamir shrugged.

“Does it matter? Neither of us got drinks anyways. If you want, we could spar to determine a new winner. I’m ready whenever you are.”

Catherine grinned wolfishly, now doubly pleased at the idea of sparring her partner for drinks.

“You’re on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep writing chapters that make me feel like a terrible person. And then I keep writing more. Maybe I enjoy the feeling of being a terrible person at this point. Who knows?


	9. Preparations for Ailell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid, Felix, and Sylvain discuss preparations for the coming battle.

The mood around the dining hall was incredibly dour. Felix and Sylvain in particular were in a foul mood regarding the prince, but Annette had joined the crowd of grieved members of the Blue Lions after Dimitri’s most recent episode, and the three were all gathered around Ingrid. For her part, Ingrid was certainly in disagreement with His Highness’s attempts to harshly punish Caspar and Ashe, but she couldn’t help but feel like she understood the blind rage he was going through. She’d certainly be lying to herself if she said she didn’t sometimes feel compelled to take up her lance and fly straight to Enbarr to take Edelgard’s head herself after hearing of her involvement. In part, that itself was due to how terrible she felt hearing of Dedue’s demise and how she was never able to properly apologize to the Duscur native. To have been so cold to the man, only to realize his people were never behind it, people whose deaths she supported…it messed with her head, and it hurt her heart to see the prince still grieving so heavily with nothing to do about it.

“Ashe! Caspar!” 

Ingrid turned to see half the entire dining hall swarm to the entrance where the two incredibly tired looking boys were entering. Questions began swarming and building as the hall was drowned in attempts at conversation, but both boys seemed entirely uncomfortable at the attention they were getting. Ingrid tied to push through, turning and putting on the best “stern knight” face that she possibly could.

“That’s enough, everyone. Give them some space, one at a time.” She repeated herself as the calm gradually settled over her former classmates…that is, until one voice echoed over the rest.

“You two are complete idiots. Why didn’t you expect the smaller sentence and leave while you had the chance?”

Ingrid stopped to glare at Felix, who unfortunately glared right back at her, which felt cutting in some sort of way. She felt a hand on her shoulder as Ashe tried to placate her, staring back at Felix as well. 

“You know the reason why we wanted to stay just as well as we do, Felix. We couldn’t leave. Not just yet.”

Now it was Felix’s turn to blush as he turned away, though Ingrid thought his acceptance of that response was telling of what was going through his own mind. As much as everyone rejected what Dimitri was doing, none of them truly wanted to abandon the prince at this point, not really. Even Felix’s blushes and avoiding of questions was enough of a tell to Ingrid for her to know that all he wanted was the prince to come back to them, not for him to be gone forever. It was a faint hope at this point, really, but even above taking the Empire back Ingrid was concerned with His Highness regaining his own sense of purpose, his own sanity back. Seeing him like this…it was painful more than anything else.

“So, how are your backs?” Annette brought the conversation back to Ashe and Caspar, prodding worriedly at their spines. “You two are strutting around awfully freely for having taken such a beating.”

Ashe waved his hand in an almost carefree manner, as though receiving thirty lashes at the hands of two of the strongest warriors in all of Fodlan was no major ordeal. “Manuela and Mercedes fixed us up real nicely, honestly.” He countered, “Well, they offered to, anyways. My back is almost completely healed with only a couple minor traces. Caspar decided he wanted a few of his stripes to scar naturally, so he’s a bit more tender.”

“What?” Annette’s mouth fell open in shock. “Caspar, why would you want to do that? Wouldn’t that get in the way?”

It was Caspar’s abashed smile that clued Ingrid in almost immediately; the mercenary had probably thought it would look cool and impressive, and so had decided that keeping them would be his option. Annette seemed to realize it at the same time, as she waved her hands disinterestedly at the sheepish young man. “You know what? Never mind. I think I know, and I’m scared you saying anything will just make it worse. Just go along with it as you will.”

Ingrid smiled as the Dining Room conversation cycled away from the very obviously embarrassed pair, and Ashe and Caspar settled in alongside Ignatz, Mercedes, and Flayn to discuss more pleasant, superficial things about the current goings-on at the monastery. The room seemed ready to prattle on just like usual, back in the old days, and the thought itself almost seemed sad to Ingrid. Especially since she herself was subject to having to discuss far less pleasant things with her current tablemates.

“The boar has us set to meet my father in Ailell at the end of this month,” Felix grumbled. “I can’t imagine why he decided travelling to such a location to meet him of all people was so worth doing. Or maybe Gilbert thought my father would have the gall to talk sense into Dimitri, as if he hasn’t had the opportunity for four years.”

Ingrid tutted, lightly chiding her childhood friend. “Felix, you know just as well as I do that Ailell is the best place for us to meet at this point, and that your father is easily the most able to help. Please, don’t make everything about people’s ulterior motives or your own cynicism.” That earned a disinterested scowl from Felix, but Ingrid took it in stride. At this point, a scowl from Felix was practically tantamount to him ceding the point to her. 

“I know, Ingrid, but still, it’s Ailell.” Sylvain emphasized the name, pouting as he rolled his eyes overdramatically. “The place is near unbearable to be around with all the heat, and it smells! I’ll be rubbing the scent from my armor for the next few months if we go!”

Ingrid had to smirk at that. This, of course, from her courter, who wore the most armor of anyone bar Dimitri and Gilbert, who insisted on layering up before heading from the coldest area of Fodlan to one of the warmest, and who oddly refused to remove layers whenever warmth grew to the more unbearable temperatures. “You know there are ways to combat heat, right? Like, oh I don’t know, wearing less clothing?”

Of course, that elicited a completely different reaction from Sylvain than she had hoped, and one she should have seen coming.

“Oh, Ingrid!” Sylvain’s sickening seductive voice came in full force, making even Felix blush. “How absolutely crass of you. Here in the dining hall? With everyone watching? At least let us get into the privacy of our rooms!” Ingrid could feel people beginning to stare, so she opted for her old reliable method of dealing with Sylvain’s antics. The noble yelped in pain as her boot slammed into his shin, tears springing to his eyes at the questionably warranted use of force.

“I meant when we get to Ailell, and even then in moderate amounts, dummy.” She made sure to put some fondness in her words to take the edge of her hit off. “If you want to strip privately later, then that’s up to you. Got it?” 

Sylvain, not trusting the words to come out of his mouth, only nodded weakly.

“There is one thing over everything else I’m worried about, though.” Felix ignored the pair’s bickering as he pressed on, which Ingrid was incredibly grateful for. She motioned for him to continue, and his mouth set in a tight line. “If we cross through Ailell that way, we run inherent risk of inciting Lord Gwendal of the Dukedom Alliance. He’d certainly be a tough old man to beat in any regard, speaking quite honestly.”

Ingrid and Sylvain both choked as they took in the truth of Felix’s words. Truth be told, both knew Lord Gwendal quite well, and neither particularly fondly. The old lord was cantankerous, bullheaded, and above all a force of nature, albeit a crestless one. Sylvain had nearly met his end long ago when he made a misstep in “courting” his daughter, and Ingrid had nearly faced trial by combat merely for trying to mediate between the two. Gwendal was something of a terror to face when angered, and Ingrid imagined nothing would anger him more than seeing His Highness after the stories that had been told about him, especially now that his survival was known to the masses.

“But…Byleth said that the operation was going to be completely secret, right?” Sylvain postulated. “There’s every chance we won’t even see a shade of that old man’s gray hairs in Ailell. It would be a suicide mission anyways to come, right?”

Felix raised an eyebrow.

“You think there’s no chance our movements will be picked up or suspected by the Empire, or that there’s no chance his troops will be set up just in case? If the Empire’s smart, they’ll try to quell us immediately and isolate us from incoming troops, no matter the cost. Sending a suicide mission, even just to stand guard, hardly sounds out of the realm of possibility.”

Ingrid set her mouth in a line. Everything Felix was saying was absolutely fair and accurate to the situation they were facing, after all. 

“All right, we’ll just have to take that into consideration,” she said finally. “Unpleasant a scenario as it may be, we’re taking our only option. Our only option,” she repeated as Felix opened his mouth to butt in, “That we’re all willing to take at this point. You know none of us are going to make a move from the army at this rate, Felix. It’s just not going to happen.”

“Right,” Felix grumbled. “Too many stakes, too attached to Dimitri, whatever you say. I really couldn’t care less at this point.” Saying this, he nearly overturned the table with how quickly he got up, turning sharply to turn his dish in to the front of the hall. He was trying to hide it, but Ingrid could easily tell the blush that was creeping up into his face, the soft scowl that belied the truth of his words.

“Felix, where are you going? We still have to talk tactics, battle plans, deployment…”

“You can do that on your own,” the swordsman scoffed. “Tactics, deployment, all that crap isn’t going to mean jack shit if we’re not doing anything to get ready ourselves. I’m going to go train.”

And with that, Ingrid watched as her old friend gathered up his sword, swept his eyes around the room with another final, lasting scowl, and turned on his heel to march out to the training grounds.


	10. Songs of Sorrow and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette tries to get Felix to understand a non-violent way to express himself. It goes...all right?

SLAM

Felix felt a mild numbness spread across his arm as his sword accidentally rammed into the steel supporting the training ground dummies. He cursed silently to himself, a reprimand for even that small carelessness. Even if it was just training, he couldn’t allow himself to slack, not like Sylvain. Even if he was still pissed at Ingrid and Sylvain for taking everything Dimitri did so casually. Even if he was pissed at Ashe and Caspar for taking beatings with no animosity, no acknowledgment of how awful Dimitri was. Especially Ashe, for being damned right about Felix not wanting to leave either, in spite of all his instincts telling him to. Even if he was pissed they were going to see his father, who was apparently abandoning his people to probably fulfill his duty to a dead king, like he always insisted on doing.

Even if he was just so tired…tired of everything.

Felix slumped back against the wall, utterly annoyed with himself. It had only been what…thirty minutes? And he was already an absolute wreck on the training grounds. Even back when he wasn’t in his prime he could spar for hours easily, so why…?

“Felix?”

Ah, shit. That was a voice he didn’t expect or particularly want to hear…at least, not now. Hoping against hope that he was wrong, he tentatively called out. “What? I’m busy.”

  
The laugh that even sounded musical in its own small, light way confirmed his worst suspicions as Annette walked out in front of him to stare him down. “Right, and I assume leaning back against the wall and trying not to look like a dead man walking is your idea of being busy nowadays? You look terrible.”

Felix felt his face burn already. If it was Ingrid looking down at him and scolding him, or Sylvain joking about him slacking off, he would be ready with a barb or angry retort. Yet, there was something about Annette…he could never quite force himself to be mad at the redhead. In truth, he was shocked to learn she grew up in the Faerghus nobility; a gathering of far too conservative, stuck-up, arrogant and crest obsessed men and women who surely trampled nearly every promising youth in the kingdom, aside from the group of friends Felix had managed to make before the monastery…Dimitri excluded, of course. And yet, Annette burned with so much more life and positivity than any of them: where Dimitri brooded, Annette sang. Where Ingrid scolded, Annette gently teased. Where Sylvain was an insufferable idiot, Annette was endearingly ditzy.

…Did he just say endearingly?

  
“Yes, you did.” Annette laughed softly. “And a bunch of other really sweet things too, I might add.”

In that moment, both of their faces may as well have been blood red.

“You…Did I just say all of that?” Felix choked. He must have been more exhausted than he felt.

“Not all of it. Just broken up parts about not being mad and burning with life and positivity. And being endearing. Don’t forget that. I know I definitely won’t, just like you never forgot about my singing.”

And now Felix was stammering. “W-wait, Annette. I’ll forget it, I’ll forget everything. I swear! Please, just do the sa-“

“Nope!” Annette responded brightly. “No, I think I get what you meant, now. About not being able to forget if you wanted to. Not…not that I want to forget you saying that.” Goddess damn it, Felix thought she was adorable when she blushed.

“So…anyways. I wanted to ask why you both stormed out of the Dining Hall with a half-finished meal to train and collapsed while training, because as much as those two instances may seem to point to each other, I suspect that isn’t the case, hm?”

Felix averted his eyes, trying his best to plaster a scowl onto his face. “You aren’t my therapist, Annette. Don’t ask prodding questions that you won’t get an answer to.”

Annette laughed hollowly. “A therapist. Please, if we’re not getting one for Dimitri I doubt we’re getting one for anyone.”

  
Felix smirked at that. “Would you assign a therapist to the boar? I’d feel sorry for whatever poor wretch took the job.” 

“Felix!” Annette slapped his arm, her face finally angry now. “Please, don’t joke about that…him…whatever! It’s not a joke, you know.”

Felix let a breath out. She was right, really. It wasn’t kind to joke about the boar’s condition, particularly at this murderous stage. But his manner of snide detachment had gotten him through his time at the monastery. It was a coping mechanism, just as much as anything.

“Yeah, I kinda figured as much,” Annette admitted. Felix found himself blushing again.

“Seriously, again? What is wrong with me toay?”

Annette held up her hand, counting her fingers down as she listed: “Well, you’re completely exhausted, realizing your entire façade wasn’t fooling anybody about how much you care about us, Dimitri included, are probably incredibly hungry, are facing a stressful reunion with your father that nobody is quite sure whether you love or hate, and are currently talking to the completely dazzling and endearing love of your life.”

  
Felix glared at her. “You made that last one up.” The response earned a wink from Annette, who suddenly looked frustratingly like Sylvain.

“Consider it a lesson I took in flirting in exchange for magic tutelage. Or as a poor attempt at trying to get you to confess at least one thing while we’re here. Please? Your whole silent and shut-off schtick is really bringing me down, and I’m really kind of crazy about you.”

“Annette, enough, plea-“ Wait. Felix’s mind stopped suddenly, processing the entirety of the statement. “You…what?”

Annette frowned. “You couldn’t tell? At all? Really? Even when I was super flustered about you hearing me sing and all that?” Felix shrugged.

“I assumed you were just embarrassed. Are you really…?”

Annette nodded slowly. “So…?” Felix propped himself up, slowly walking over to the weapons rack next to the training grounds. “Uh…Felix? Any response?” The swordsman swung his head around to look at Annette, a question in his eyes. “You’re most proficient in axes, right?”

Annette tilted her head. “Well, most in spells, but in terms of physical weapons, I guess so.” The pause as Felix rummaged through the stores for a half-decent training axe was unbearable. “Wait! Felix, you can’t be doing what I think you’re doing. That is so not cool!” 

Felix flushed. “What? It’s the only thing that makes sense right now, Annette. Trust me, just a round of sparring, and then I’ll be able to sort out my feelings. Promise.” Annette shook her head.

“That is an awful way to sort out feelings, Felix. Come on, there has to be better ways of figuring out if you like someone. Pleeeeeease?”

Felix threw his hands up. “Fine. What do you suggest?” He almost immediately regretted the action when Annette grabbed his hand, tugging him along. 

“I have the absolute perfect idea! Come on, I think you’ll love it!” She practically dragged Felix down out the training grounds, sharply turning a corner to run across the bridge leading to…

“Annette, that’s the cathedral.”

“Yup!” Annette’s voice was completely chipper, almost mischievous to the point of making Felix’s own heart sink with dread.

“What do you intend for us to do at a cathedral, Annette, sing? I don’t really care to-“ Annette turned to Felix again, and Goddess, the puppy dog look on her face was enough to stop his words in his throat. “You…you really do want us to sing.” The girl nodded sternly, and suddenly her eyes seemed…almost misty.

“It’s something my mother and I used to do back home. Father leaving us…well, it hurt a lot. Singing really helped calm our nerves and brighten our spirits. I know you hate it, Felix, but it is just the two of us, and you owe me anyways.” And there were the eyes again, poking and prodding at Felix’s insides, turning them to jelly all over again.

“Annette, I don’t…what do you expect me to do, I don’t even know any good songs.” Annette huffed, her patience clearly wearing thin.

“I’m not asking you to sing an operetta, Felix, this is for you to vent your feelings, okay? All there is to it.” And with that, she retreated behind the pews, leaving Felix alone in the middle of the cathedral to…what, exactly?

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…?” Felix held out one note, turning questionably towards Annette as though asking “Am I doing it right?”. Judging y the weirded out look she was giving him, the answer was no. Felix closed his eyes again, thinking deep. Vent your feelings. He thought to himself. Let it out in a way that isn’t just fighting. He looked over at Annette one last time and thought of her own songs…so carefree, and pure, even. He couldn’t do something like that, not really. But she did it in such an honest expression of how she felt…and Felix had a hard time doing that. Maybe…just this once.

“We’re so sick of everything, sick of noble wars.” His voice sounded stupid exiting his throat, slipping into a much higher pitched tone than he was generally comfortable with. He didn’t like it, but the smile that spread across Annette’s face was stupidly contagious.

“Why won’t anybody see just what he’s fighting for?  
The dead are gone, the living cry, but he would never care.  
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if dad had grown a pair.”

Annett only barely stifled a laugh, causing Felix to glare over at her. “I’m sorry, Felix, but I’m not sure I’ve ever heard ‘grown a pair’ in a set of lyrics before.”

“I was rushed,” Felix said blushing, before retorting. “And if we’re going with strange lyrics, I think the mounds of steaks and cakes puts up a decent fight.”

“Oh hush,” Annette waved him on, smiling widely beneath her own blush. “Keep going, you sound good. Never would have pegged you for a tenor, though.”

“Shut uuuuuup.” Felix rolled his eyes, briefly wondering how long he was going to have to keep this up. Though, for some reason, his chest did feel a bit lighter.

“Fools who never will stand up or bear the yoke of blame  
When he snaps all they can do is shake their heads in shame.  
Why do I stay? I wouldn’t dare leave everyone alone.  
Especially not the one I love, who still seems so alone.”

  
Felix cursed twice under his breath. The first was for repeating “alone” twice, and the second was for letting the last line slip out.

“The one you love, huh?” Annette’s voice was sly and coy, and Felix could hear the slow smile creeping up into her face. “Care to explain a bit?”

Felix huffed. “Do I really need to? You can tell already, right? Please, don’t make me…” And then he stopped. His body didn’t feel so…weird as it did earlier. He thought he would be in a mess trying to talk about something like this with Annette, but he felt…strangely calm? “Actually…you’re right, Annette. I think I’m ready to start talking now.”

  
The redhead’s mouth dropped open as Felix turned back to face her. “Wait, what? I thought you would just blush and act all mean again like you usually do. You…actually want to talk?”

Felix shrugged. “Well, not talk so much as…do this.” And stepping forward briskly, he frimly planted his lips against Annette’s own in his first kiss. It was an admittedly awkward experience; Annette’s surprise meant that she did absolutely nothing for a few moments, and Felix had no previous knowledge of the art of kissing to move forward from the initial contact with. However, Annette quickly recovered, returning the force vigorously in what Felix assumed could be objectively called a passionate kiss. Not that it really mattered, at this point.

“Hell yes, Felix!”

Time froze as Felix immediately recognized the voice calling out through the Cathedral as Sylvain. How long had that idiot been there?

“Man, a vocal performance and a romantic makeout session in one night? I could have paid money for that, Fe! Congrats!” Sylvain’s laughter trailed behind him as he left the Cathedral, and Felix cursed under his breath.

“Felix, it’s all right,” Annette said gently. “Sylvain’s an idiot, but he probably just meant well. He was probably worried about you, so he-“

“I know what he did,” Felix groaned as they sat on the pews together. “But that is absolutely not going to change the fact that I’m killing him tomorrow morning before he can tell anyone else.”

“And what’s wrong with other people knowing?” Annette protested. “I think it’s sweet that you care so much, Felix. And I want other people to know about us.”

Felix leaned back against the pew, suddenly very tired again. He…wasn’t used to emotional displays very often. And he certainly wasn’t used to being the center of romantic gossip. Just seeing Sylvain day to day made him tired of that stuff. But with Annette, it was…well, it was almost something entirely different. At a certain point…

“I guess it’ll be okay,” he decided. “As long as nobody comes in expecting a concert from me. That’s for your ears only, understand?”

  
Annette smiled proudly, gripping his hand tight as they looked up through the cathedral to the starry night above.

“Absolutely, Felix. I completely understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I am really sorry for the gap here, I have been busy to the bone and have just been terribly disjointed in general. I'm not sure if I can promise frequent updates from here, but I'll try to make it more frequent than once a week. Tis the season to be busy, apparently.


	11. Heated Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid takes on Lord Gwendal at Aillel, only for a confusing realization to occur.

The Valley of Torment burned with fire as the two armies clashed to get to Rodrigue’s forces. Ingrid soared above the air, this time with only Sylvain to accompany her. Recently, Ashe had usually taken to the skies with his own Wyvern, but he had been told to stay and watch over at the monastery by Byleth, for a plethora of reasons, among them being Caspar’s still recovering backside and the fact that, if the Kingdom were to send soldiers, House Gaspard would likely be chief among them. Ingrid shuddered as she cut through one of the many soldiers attempting to clash against Byleth and Dimitri. Did Ashe know any of these soldiers? If so, was he friends with any? It was a hard thought to imagine the plucky young man among these soldiers, and yet, if she thought about it she could almost visualize the picture in her head. He would probably be at the front lines, brave and stupid as he was, but ready to head them off near where parts of the ground burned with fury due to that odd cleverness he sometimes displayed.

Ingrid shook her head with a scowl. Trying to imagine her friend as one of the several soldiers she found herself cutting down was not a particularly helpful exercise to renew her resolve in fighting soldiers from her own country. As it was, she saw the Old General Gwendal waiting off in the distance, scanning the battlefield for the chance to spring upon Rodrigues’ forces.

“Yikes, the old man looks more time-worn and grumpy than I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something.” Sylvain whistled next to her as they hovered in the sky. “Though I still think you should be the one to take him, you know? I doubt he’ll be fond to see me.”

Ingrid turned to him blearily. “You still like joking about that, Sylvain? I don’t think your passes at his daughter are really the first thing on his mind at this point.” Sylvain shrugged.

“Still,” he replied after a pause, “I think in this case I’m going to err on the side of caution. You did want me to be more careful, after all.”

Saying that, he opted to plummet down and start battle with the various archers littering the other side of the lava from where the Lions had entered, leaving Ingrid to the soldiers further on. Instead of jumping right in, she instead hovered a moment longer, taking a moment to survey the field. Felix, Byleth, and Dimitri were all running towards Rodrigue’s end of the field, desperately trying to block the way between him and Gwendal’s forces. Dorothea, Ignatz, Annette and Mercedes were focused towards the scarcer end of the field to keep enemies from flocking from the back, and to form a pincer maneuver if necessary. Marianne was backing them up as well, with Flayn providing long-range healing. All in all, the tides did not seem to be turning in the favor of the Gaspard army.

Which meant it was probably time for Ingrid to go down and settle things herself. She hated when Sylvain was right. Taking a breath, she steadied her Pegasus and swept down towards the general, who shockingly looked up at her with a wide grin on his face.

“Ho, there! Ingrid!” He waved the arm that wasn’t wielding a bone-crushing axe high into the air, perhaps signaling her to parlay. Which would have been an incredibly appealing option to Ingrid if he wasn’t surrounded by six or seven vicious-looking soldiers comprising his royal guard. Perhaps realizing this, the general directed them away to what Ingrid felt was an order to be slaughtered by Dimitri and her former professor, which they took will all the consternation one would expect from being sentenced to one’s likely deaths. Hesitantly, she floated down in the air to hover a safe distance away from the general.

“What do you want, Lord Gwendal?” Ingrid kept her lance raised warily; as much as the leave of soldiers emboldened her, she didn’t trust the lord not to make a move himself.

“Want?” Gwendal laughed heartily, almost making to clap Ingrid on the shoulder before remembering himself. “Ah, what’s so wrong with wanting to greet an old comrade, Ingrid? I simply wanted to catch up on old times, as long as it’s been for us.” Despite the irony of that statement, Ingrid was shocked to find she actually believed the old man saying that.

“Come now, how have things been for you? I’m sure House Galatea has had some rough times in fighting the Empire, as cut off as they are. Is your father doing well, Ingrid? Are you managing things well enough without support?”

Ingrid smiled painfully. “My family is no stranger to suffering financially, Lord Gwendal. My father is willing to stand for what he believes if it means perpetuating that suffering for a small time longer. And I stand with him in that regard.”

The lord nodded thoughtfully, though Ingrid noted a slight pain in his eyes as he did so. “And what of your friends? I know the prince is…well…” the hesitation in his voice was clue enough to Ingrid; Gwendal knew exactly how far gone Dimitri was. “But what of that old dastard Sylvain? Surely not chasing after any girls, I pray? I’d surely hate for him to go after my daughter once I’m gone and buried here.” Ingrid ignored the final implication in his words, choosing instead to focus on the direct question.

“No, Lord Gwendal. Sylvain’s skirt chasing days are over, and I’m sure you can trust me most of all when I say that I’m making absolutely sure of it.”

“Oh?” Ingrid had tried to say such a thing without blushing or giving some other tell, but the look on Gwendal’s face made it quite clear he knew what she meant. “So, the skirt chaser has wound up with dear, sweet Ingrid. Honestly, I’m not sure if that’s a better or worse deal in my mind. After you begged so hard for me not to slaughter him all those years ago, I thought particularly fondly of you, you know.”

Not exactly appropriate words to use on opposite sides of the battlefield, Ingrid thought. Still, a weight seemed to have been removed from the Lord’s shoulders, which lightened Ingrid’s heart somewhat. Distantly, she heard the sound of metal on metal, and turned to see more of Gwendal’s reinforcements being rent apart by Dimitri, with Byleth close by his side taking his own share of the slaughter.

“Barbaric.” Gwendal muttered. “Though I suppose you and the rest of the prince’s company likely believe the same of us and the Imperial forces, do you not?”

Ingrid’s mind flashed back to the Demonic Beasts terrorizing Garreg Mach, the look in Dimitri’s eyes after they reunited, and the fear she felt when she first heard the prince had been sentenced to death. She also thought of the stories she heard of her former classmates going missing to various mysterious forces working alongside the Empire, and the sight of Caspar almost being dragged away by Randolph’s forces. And finally, she thought of Dedue, who had sacrificed himself for His Highness, and if all was true, whose people were slaughtered despite never being at fault due to the Empire’s hand.

“Yes, Gwendal. That’s how I do see you all. Can’t you see all the evil the Empire has done? The evil just Cornelia has done? It is madness to follow her!”

“And is it not madness to follow the prince?” Gwendal countered, his eyes now suspicious. “What has Dimitri done since his escape from Cornelia, do you wonder? You’ve heard the tales, I know. Of his slaughter, of his torturing, of his complete insanity. You know all this to be true, Ingrid. Deep down, you know. And do you truly believe him to be right in spite of that?”

“He is only like that because of the Empire,” Ingrid growled. “Because of Cornelia. I fight just as much to avenge His Highness as to support him. I understand his anger. I understand his thirst for vengeance. So I will not condemn him for fighting back. If he goes too far against the helpless or tries to fight the innocent, then I will stop him. But I will always support him fighting against you, Gwendal.”

The air became deathly still.

“I see.”

The world shifted before Ingrid could take in what was happening. Gwendal lurched forward with surprising speed for a knight his age. His axe flashed through the air, and Ingrid made to fall back, narrowly dodging his initial strike. She readied herself, swinging her lance around for a counterattack…

And then a flash of blue and yellow slammed into the General, crushing him into the burning ground. Gwendal screamed in agony once before a familiarly bloody silver lance slammed into his head, immediately silencing his cries with brutal finality. Gwendal’s assailant paused for a moment, as if offering some sort of prayer or deep thought, before rising to face Ingrid.

Of course, the interceder was none other than Dimitri.

“Your Highness…” Ingrid started to thank him, then remembered that such a thing was not something he took kindly to at this stage. Unsure what to say, she stuttered. “U-um…”

“Are you unhurt?” The deep, gravelly voice she had come to associate with the prince didn’t fit the concern in his words, and for a moment Ingrid was shell-shocked. 

“What?”

Dimitri shook his head impatiently. “Did that monster injure you? Yes or no?” Ingrid found herself stammering again.

“U-um…no…”

“Good.” He snarled as he got up. “I still have use for you, after all. Do not lay your life on the line so easily. The last thing I need is more faces to haunt me.”

And with that, the prince was gone. Ingrid put her head up to her forehead, trying to shake the feeling of complete weirdness out. After so long, seeing His Highness express complete concern- albeit marred by his current state- was…

“Ingrid!” 

…And then there was Sylvain. Ingrid sighed as the redhead nearly tackled her as he leapt off his wyvern, checking over her whole body. Admittedly, this was something he was concerningly good at. “Oh, thank the Goddess.” He finally breathed after checking her over. “I was worried when Gwendal launched his attack, but I couldn’t get there in time. As much as I hate to say it, I’m glad Dimitri was there.”

“…Yeah…” Ingrid shook her head, still a bit shell-shocked. Sylvain, perhaps understanding, nodded and retreated back to his own steed. 

“I’ll give you some space to process, ‘kay?” He called out. “Mercedes is handling the fall back, so see her off before you make your way back to the monastery.” Ingrid nodded her head in affirmation, and it seemed like no time at all before she was alone again.

Alone with Lord Gwendal’s body, that was.

Kneeling down, Ingrid placed her hand on Gwendal’s shoulder. For all the war his house had helped start, she admittedly did feel bad for the old lord. Perhaps, in another time they could have-

The thought was interrupted as the body beneath her gasped, clawing at her hand desperately. Ingrid stifled a scream, covering her hand with her mouth as she backed away.

“No…please…back…” Gwendal plead. “Have…something…tell…”

Now curious, Ingrid crept forward, but kept her distance in case Gwendal was searching for one last trick.

“…Grid…” Gwendal’s eyes focused on her, his breath heaving. “List…en. The Emperor…not…to blame…for Duscur. The Western Church had…details. Read…the churches…something…Goneril…” The poor lord was gasping for breath at this point, slipping away into consciousness. “Don’t…give…up…”

And with that, he was gone. Leaving Ingrid alone. Alone, and completely stunned.

What was Gwendal trying to say? The Emperor wasn’t to blame for Duscur, and…Goneril? Ingrid shook her head. This wasn’t something she could understand on her own, nor did she have time to. Perhaps after the war. Something about the Western Church, and solving the tragedy. None of what Gwendal said made any sense, but that could be something worth looking into, if she and her friends didn’t all die to the war they were all continuing to fight.

And for now, it was time to make sure they didn’t all die fighting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s this? More Duscur subplot in Azure Moon? What could this possibly mean? I won’t tell (unless you ask me because I suck at covering things up)


End file.
